


Ghosted

by cognomen, MayGlenn



Series: A Very Supernatural Starsky & Hutch [3]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Dobey is one also, Ghosts, Latin, M/M, Magic, Progressive 70s Dudes, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-10 05:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15284445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/pseuds/cognomen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: “Do you two feel better, now?” Dobey asks, but Hutch is ready with a defense:“Captain, look,” he begins, pointing already, “our personal lives have never mattered before, and they shouldn’t matter now. Starsky and I have been friends for years. If anyone’s going to understand me, it’s him, and if the pack has anything to say—”“Hutch,” Dobey barks, “sit down.”Hutch does sit, like an obedient dog, but sullenly.“Hey, be nice,” Starsky says. “Cap, it’s no big deal, alright? Obviously we can keep a secret to ourselves.”Dobey gives him a withering look, too, and Starsky only grins into it, licking donut glaze off his thumb.“I should write you two up for unprofessional conduct,” Dobey says. “But once I started I’d never be able to finish the paperwork.”





	1. Chapter 1

The next morning, the discussion on how to carry on boils down simply to pretending nothing happened and seeing how it unfolds. Starsky’s certain he can play it smooth and confident, especially when he knows Hutch has his back. If he maybe sprays a little extra cologne on despite Hutch’s warning that it wouldn’t matter, well, no real trouble anyway.

Except Hutch’s occasional sneeze.

“I mean, really, it’s just another morning,” Starsky says, as they get into the Torino. He sounds perky and upbeat, like someone in an extremely good mood. “We’ll get some donuts, and we’ll go in. Nobody’s gonna notice we pull up in the same car for the hundredth time and if they do you can just say you finally had the trash truck haul yours away, right?”

“I’ve stayed at your house before,” Hutch points out in agreement, “and you at mine. It won’t be weird. Except for I’d have to shower three more times to stop smelling like you—which, for the record, is distracting.” 

Hutch grins, and his leg is bouncing where he sits in the passenger side, nervous and elated at the same time. Even Starsky’s cologne—it’s expensive stuff, he can tell, even if it’s overwhelming—doesn’t mask the trace smells of Starsky’s skin on his, of his spunk on Starsky’s breath. It would be gross, maybe, if he weren’t wolf enough that smells like that are just...normal. As it is, he wants to kiss Starsky again just to taste it, but he thinks that won’t go down well at the office. 

They do come in with donuts, which distracts everyone but Sally—who Hutch hasn’t gotten around to telling Starsky is a werewolf yet—and who looks between the two of them, grins, and the next chance she gets, she smacks Hutch on the ass with unnecessarily force. “Oh, and, Captain wants to see you. And your  _ partner _ .” 

The way she drawls  _ partner  _ out is unnecessary, too, but if this is the ribbing he’s going to get, he’ll still take it. It’s juvenile, but it’s also wolves jockeying for who belongs to whom. She’s acknowledging Starsky is off-limits (though she gives him a look that indicates if Starsky’s amenable, she wouldn’t mind  _ sharing _ ). 

“Look at it this way,” Starsky says, pausing to grab a donut and missing the exchange. “We only just got here so we can’t be in trouble  _ yet _ .”

He jams the donut into his mouth and swings his way into Captain Dobey’s office, before he turns one of the chairs around to perch on it rather than sit in it properly, grinning around his donut before he starts eating it.

“Don’t get crumbs on my carpet, Starsky!” Dobey barks, irritated as usual by how lackadaisical the pair of them are. “And can’t you sit on a chair proper—”

Their Captain trails off, and Hutch can tell when the scent of  _ them _ hits his nose, and Starsky can tell because Hutch blushes instantly. 

“—ly,” Dobey finishes, and glares at them both under his bushy eyebrows. “Shut the door.”

Hutch gets back up and shuts the door, for all intents and purposes with his tail between his legs. 

“You want a donut, captain?” Starsky asks, doing his best to just pass things along as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Surely it couldn’t be the first time Dobey knew something about them he’d rather not. “Or are you on a diet again?”

He wants to reach out and give Hutch a reassuring pat, since he’s pretty sure that Hutch has broken out in a sweat, but he’s sure that would only make things worse. 

“Do you two feel better, now?” Dobey asks, but Hutch is ready with a defense:

“Captain, look,” he begins, pointing already, “our personal lives have never mattered before, and they shouldn’t matter now. Starsky and I have been friends for years. If anyone’s going to understand me, it’s him, and if the pack has anything to say—”

“Hutch,” Dobey barks, “sit down.” 

Hutch does sit, like an obedient dog, but sullenly. 

“Hey, be nice,” Starsky says. “Cap, it’s no big deal, alright? Obviously we can keep a secret to ourselves.”

Dobey gives him a withering look, too, and Starsky only grins into it, licking donut glaze off his thumb. 

“I should write you two up for unprofessional conduct,” Dobey says. “But once I started I’d never be able to finish the paperwork.”

“The nose knows, huh?” Starsky asks. He’s not making it any better. 

“Look, I’m glad you two are...working it out,” Dobey says, sounding like ‘it’ was something that needed working on for a while—and maybe it had. “Far as I’m concerned, the pack can stuff it. It’s 1976, and I wouldn’t be doing much for civil rights if I took issue with a werewolf dating another man—or a  _ hu _ man.” 

Dobey winks at Starsky. “Just don’t be stupid about it. Hear?”

Hutch relaxes a little, daring to be relieved. “You mean you won’t tell—”

“Of course I’m going to tell,” Dobey says gruffly. “What will Edith have to gossip about at church, otherwise?” 

Starsky groans. “I guess she’d know anyway, just by looking at us.”

Dobey gives them a look that tells them Mrs. Dobey probably  _ already  _ knew, before getting down to business. 

“That’s not why I called you two in here anyway,” Dobey remembers, shuffling through the files on his desk as though he wants to move on from this conversation. “Patrol picked up a very unusual case that has the earmarks of something that should be looked at by  _ sensitive  _ investigators.”

He passes the file to Hutch. “I’m putting you two on it.”

“Great,” Hutch says, also glad for something else to focus on. He wants to grab Starsky’s hand, but that might be pushing it, so he contents himself with going through the case. Looks like a series of thefts have been accompanied by a black oozy substance and flickering lights…

“Restless spirit knocking over rich people’s homes?” Hutch asks, handing the file to Starsky to look over next. 

“ _ What _ ?” Starsky asks, looking over the file. “Listen, werewolves at least are alive, are you telling me ghosts and spooks are real now, too? What if it’s just a—a rogue construction worker?”

Dobey pushes a vial of black substance sitting on his desk toward them with the end of his pencil. “That’s ectoplasm.”

“Ecto- _ what _ ?” Starsky demands. 

“Ectoplasm. It’s—what ghosts leave behind, I guess. And if people report localized flickering, but the power company can’t confirm anything, well, it’s a good sign of a haunting. But it looks like there’s a few places here. Three? Different areas of the city,” Hutch muses, taking the file back from Starsky’s lax hands and poring over it. “Any sightings? Connections between the victims?” 

Dobey shook his head. “Robberies happened while the homeowners were gone or asleep. And I thought you might want to do some, you know,  _ work _ , so stop wasting my time and get out there and interview the victims!” 

“You got it cap’n,” Starsky says, because he’s in over his head and has no idea what to do except what Dobey says to do, so he gets up, and turns the chair back around before he leaves Dobey’s office. Hutch can probably fill him in on the details. 

When they’re back out in the car and have run through their pre-duty checklist, Starsky figures it’s safe enough to ask a few questions. “Are you two really serious about the ghosts?”

“Unfortunately,” Hutch says, pulling up an address. “Sometimes people are more... _ ready _ to believe in restless spirits than werewolves and stuff, so that makes our job a little easier. Less secretive, anyway. Okay, the closest address is the place hit last night. Big old mansion on Oceanview.”

There are lots of big old mansions on Oceanview, and Hutch has to be more specific, but they do find the place. It looks quiet, nondescript, your average way-too-wealthy family on their beachfront property.

Mother and Father and Maid (yes, they have a  _ maid _ ) report they didn't see anything, but there's a kid watching them from behind some plants (which Hutch smells rather than technically sees).

Starsky picks up on Hutch’s body language, follows his gaze behind the couple they are interviewing, and wanders over to investigate the bushes along the carefully manicured path, pausing to pretend to be surprised to find a kid there. He grins, hands in his pockets. “Don’t you wanna take part in the interview?”

The boy gasps and looks ready to bolt. “I didn’t see nothing!”

“Well, if you didn’t see nothing, what did you see?” Starsky turns the statement about gently, crouching down on level with the kid. “Looks kinda like there was some real strange stuff happening here, huh?”

Uncertainly, the kid glances back toward his parents, as if worried about what they’ll say. 

Hutch, counting on Starsky to interview all available witnesses, keeps the parents talking, and views the scene of the theft, spotting more ectoplasm, which he doesn’t mention, and points out that although the doors show no sign of force, the jewelry box  _ does _ . That strikes him as odd.

When Hutch and the homeowners have moved out of earshot, Starsky half-shrugs at the kid. “There, see, nothing to worry about. If you didn’t see anything, did you hear anything? Was anything different about the day the crime happened?”

“I told you, I didn’t see nothing!” the boy says. He must be around ten, and dressed in a sort of private school uniform. Everything else about him, his body language, his furtive gaze, says that he did see something, or, perhaps more likely,  _ didn’t  _ see something. With a ghost, maybe that’s what they’re looking for. “It just moved on its own!” 

“The jewelry box, or the door?” Starsky asks, as if this were completely natural. He remembers what it was like to be a kid and have no one believe you. “Don’t worry, I’m listening. Really. And I think you can help us solve this crime.”

The kid perks up a bit at this promise, and looks at Starsky a bit as though he doesn’t believe  _ he’s  _ real. “You...believe me? I’m not making it up, I swear!” 

“I believe you,” Starsky assures him.

Screwing up his courage, the little boy blurts out, “The door moved! But that’s all I saw! I was worried the ghost would get me! So I—”

“Billy!” snaps the Mother, and Hutch winces, having let the conversation (which wasn’t at all illuminating) out of control. 

“Ah, is this your son?” Hutch tries. “Do you mind if we question him, too?” 

“Hey, you know what, why don’t you and I take a little walk, and let my partner finish with your parents, huh?” Starsky says, grinning. “Don’t worry ma’am, we’ll stay out of trouble.”

“Yes, I’d like to see the locks again, and talk to you about your alarm system,” Hutch lies hastily. 

Ushering his charge out of earshot, Starsky continued. “You said you were afraid it was a ghost, how do you know it’s not like…uh, ESP or something. Telekinetic powers, like the X-Men.”

“Be serious,” the kid snaps, crossing his arms.

“I am being serious,” Starsky says. “Did it look like a ghost, or was there just nothing?”

“I told you, I didn’t stick around!” he says, kicking at the perfectly manicured hedge. “I just saw—the door unlock—and open—and no one was there. When the lights went on, I thought Mother had caught me coming in late. You won’t tell her?”

“Scout’s honor,” Starsky says. “So the door unlocked and opened. Do you remember what time that was?”

“...’Round midnight. I was gonna meet the guys to—well, anyway, I didn’t meet them.” 

This seemed to be all he wanted to say. 

“Okay, so you’re coming back in late, and you saw the door open and no one’s on the other side. You took off ‘cause you thought Mom was going to catch you,” Starsky says, “But then the lights kept going on and off, right? Is that what made you think it was a ghost?”

“It’s not a ghost, dummy!” the boy says, on the verge of laughing before he sees how serious Starsky looks. 

“A minute ago you said it was,” Starsky reminds. “What’s changed your mind?”

“Ghosts aren’t real,” he says, but sullen, and unsure, or else nervous. 

“Well, nobody really knows if they are,” Starsky says. “That’s why it’s something you can think might happen, right? Maybe we should try to explain it if it isn’t ghosts. Was it really windy? Maybe the door blew open?”

“Nooo…” the boy says, and thinks about it. He seems to have taken a liking to Starsky, and wants to help him, or is glad to be listened to. “I may have heard something that makes me think it was a ghost. It was crying. Ghosts cry, right? Cause they’re sad they’re dead?” 

“Sure, they might cry,” Starsky says, taking this bit of information in and making a mental note to ask Hutch about it later. “I guess I’d be pretty sad if I was a ghost. Did you hear anything else?”

The boy shakes his head, and when the mother calls for Billy, shrilly, this time she means it. Hutch joins Starsky a moment later. 

“Well, definitely a ghost, but they didn’t see anything. Did the kid?” 

They make their way down to the car, Hutch’s nose on alert as he touches the small of Starsky’s back, protectively or intimately. 

“Is there anything  _ to  _ see when it’s a ghost?” Starsky wonders, relaxing instinctively when Hutch makes contact, even as he glances after the kid to make sure his parents don’t lay into him. Seems like a stressful time for everybody. “He says the door unlocked and opened on its own, and that he heard crying. That tell you anything?” 

Hutch frowns, separating only to get into the passenger side of Starsky’s car. “Not sure. I’ve heard they can manifest physically, but sometimes they just move stuff. Maybe it’s a poltergeist? Stealing stuff, though,  _ that  _ doesn’t make much sense…and the jewelry box was all broken up.” 

“Well, if it can unlock a door without breaking the lock, why can’t it do the same to the jewelry box, Hutch?” Starsky drops himself in behind the wheel. “And why all over town? Where’s the stuff going? I doubt a ghost has any need to liquidate assets for cash. Say; why don’t we check this from the other angle. Let’s go see what’s turning up at the pawn shops, huh? Maybe we can shine a little light on this caper.”

Hutch is nodding, musing over Starsky’s ideas. “Yeah, why  _ can’t  _ it unlock boxes if it can unlock doors?” 

Starsky shrugs, putting the car into gear and easing it onto the road as Hutch fiddles around with the case files in the passenger seats. He glances through the cases again. Two more to visit, but they had been robbed a few days ago, and could wait for now. “Here’s something, maybe. All three of the homes have young kids—all boys. It’s not much, but it could be a connection. Maybe they know each other? Or the ghost...targets families with young boys?” 

“Hutch, you don’t sound super sure of what’s going on,” Starsky says. “Don’t you know all about this stuff?” 

“I... _ mean _ ,” Hutch stammers, slightly. “I know  _ about  _ them. But it’s not like all we supernatural persons just know each other. That’s unrealistic.” 

“Have you ever met a ghost?” Starsky asks, outright. He can tell from Hutch’s expression immediately that Hutch hasn’t. “How are we supposed to investigate this if we got no idea how to even talk to the ghost if we catch it?”

“Look, ghosts are—we can’t talk to the ghost. Ghosts don’t talk. I don’t  _ think… _ ” Hutch sighs. “Okay, okay, I don’t really know any more about this than you do.” 

Starsky looks at Hutch for a long moment, in clear disbelief. “You’re telling me we’re the experts that Dobey thinks should look into this, and neither of us knows anything? I mean who do we talk to? A priest maybe?”

“I told you I know  _ about _ ghosts,” Hutch says, “I've just never seen any. I don't even think Dobey has.”

Starsky is still glaring at him. 

“Look, still better us than someone with a less open mind. You really want Andrews and Clayborne on this?” 

Starsky is still glaring. 

“ _ Okay _ , while you're in the pawn shop, I'll make some calls. I may have an idea, though I'm not sure you're gonna like it.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Starsky rattles the cages at enough pawn shops that he’s sure there’s none of the stolen jewelry they’re looking for there. He stymies his frustration with a hotdog from a street vendor, slumping down into the seat next to Hutch.

“Why  _ take _ it if you aren’t gonna sell it?” Starsky wonders, glancing at Hutch and licking ketchup and relish off his thumb. “I hope you came up with something more than I did, partner, because I don’t have anything.”

“Well, I got us someone to talk to,” Hutch says, with a bit of a wry grin. “But you have to promise not to be mad. Huggy knows a lot about a lot of things like this…” 

“Huggy is in on this too?” Starsky demands, holding the hotdog away from his face long enough to be indignant, before he takes a bite anyway, chewing irritatedly. “Who  _ isn’t _ in on this whole thing? Is half of Bay City werewolves?”

“I mean, it's his job to know stuff, so he'd be informed even if he weren’t also a dragon…” Hutch tries again. 

“A  _ what _ ,” Starsky yelps, nearly dropping his food. “How does  _ that _ work, or do you not know that either?”

“Come on, I know enough. I know that dragons can shapeshift,” Hutch says, patting Starsky’s leg. “And they don’t eat damsels, anymore. And I  _ was  _ gonna tell you about him, or let him tell you. There just wasn’t a good time. Finish your hot dog and let’s get going.” 

Huggy is at the Pits, and Starsky and Hutch walk in through the back of the kitchen and ask to see him, and are sat at a tiny table and given bowls of the soup of the day like vagrants. Hutch eats his to be polite, though once he tastes it he finds he really likes it. Split pea, maybe. 

Starsky just stirs it with his spoon, trying to figure out how all this stays hidden. Maybe he’s just the one really uninformed guy in the whole city, or maybe it’s just that nonhumans tended to sort of band together, for safety maybe. 

“Okay, are you pulling a fast one on me?” Starsky asks at last. “‘Cause I’m gonna start asking questions that might embarass me.”

Hutch laughs. 

“I swear I’m not! Huggy, tell him you’re a dragon,” he says as their friend slides into the seat closest to Starsky. 

Huggy grins and winks exaggeratedly at Hutch. “Oh, yeah, boy, I’m a dragon all right. What, you come here high or something?” 

Hutch sighs. “Huggy, I’m serious. He knows about me, and Dobey already. And we’re on the trail of a ghost right now, so, ah, ‘the truth is out there.’”

Huggy raises his eyebrows and looks around him. “Yeah, well, I could tell him I’m the Queen of Sheeba, too, but ain’t no way he’s gettin’ a show  _ here _ .” 

He glares at Hutch, who considers this fair, and realizes he hasn’t seen Huggy transform, ever, either. He just knows—or thinks he knows—that he can. Hutch is suddenly glad that being a werewolf generally obeys conservation of mass principles. 

“Well. Okay. Yeah, I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

And then Huggy’s eyes flicker golden, slitted, reptile-like, and he winks at Starsky. 

Both of them jump. 

“Right, so, setting aside a bunch of questions about how that  _ works _ ,” Starsky says, his mind obviously full of images from the horror show movies. He shakes his head to bring himself back to the here and now. “We’re trying to investigate a ghost. My partner here isn’t very helpful on that matter, and he figured you would be.”

Starsky lays out the details of the case so far, the houses and the stolen jewelry and how none of the pieces have turned up in any pawn shops. 

“So, answer me this,” Starsky concludes. “What’s a ghost need jewelry for?”

Hutch opens his mouth to answer, and then considers this. “Nothing. Probably. Unless it’s the ghost of a person who stole jewelry in life? And it’s part of their inability to move on?” 

But he doesn’t think this is that. There would be more patterns. Speaking of patterns… 

“Hey, Hug. What do you think the odds are that...kids could have, I dunno, summoned a ghost? All the families that were robbed have a young boy in the family, who might know each other. Is that a dumb connection?” 

“Billy said he’d been sneaking out to go and meet the guys for… something,” Starsky says. “But he got real squirrly about exactly what. Do you think these kids are messing around in the occult? And if so, why jewelry?”

Huggy gives a shrug. “Hey, I’m not a cop. All I know is, a ghost would have less use for jewelry than a kid, you got me?” 

Hutch sighs. “Yeah.” 

He slurps up the last of his soup and nods. “Okay. Looks like we have some witnesses to interview. Mind if we keep in touch about this?” 

“Sure, as long as you keep sliding any interesting curiosities you find my way, you dig?” Huggy says, with a shrug. “I’ll look into it, see if anything like this has happened before”

“Thanks, Hug,” Starsky grins, dropping his spoon back into his soup. “I guess ‘see you later, alligator’ is kind of taboo now, huh?”

Huggy laughs and considers them together for a moment, looking back and forth between them before leaning in to kiss Starsky’s cheek. He flashes his eyes a bit at Hutch this time, as if heading off any protest. “I’m allowed to congratulate my friends on their new relationship, ain’t I? Don’t you want one, too?” 

Hutch looks more flustered than anything, so Huggy kisses him. He winks at Starsky, says, “Mazel tov,” and leaves them. 

“...Is legitimately everybody going to know we slept together?” Starsky demands of Hutch. 

Hutch doesn’t dignify that with comment, but hooks his hand under Starsky’s elbow and drags him out. “Come on, we’ve got interviews to do.” 

Starsky follows him back to duty, but he doubts any of it is going to make much sense.”How do a bunch of kids summon a ghost? Is that something you can do accidentally?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Hutch says.

…

At the next house, Starsky takes point with the parents so Hutch can talk to the kid. The smell of ectoplasm is even stronger in this house, as well as the smell of something...old. Like, a couple hundred years. Hutch had met only a few vampires in his time, but they smelled like this. Like old. 

“So, Vinny,” Hutch says, “what kinds of games do you like to play with your friends?” 

“Just… games,” Vincent says, giving Hutch a glance that suggests he doesn’t like the nickname. “We go up to the tree house and play pirates, or explorers. Sometimes we tell ghost stories, but usually they’re really stupid.”

Hutch raises an eyebrow at this. “Where’s the treehouse?” 

“Over at my friend Billy’s house,” the kid offers, and Hutch nods. 

“You know, we used to tell ghost stories when I was a kid, too. It got a little scary sometimes, a little real, but in the morning we always knew we had imagined it. Does it happen like that?”

Vincent began to nod, then shook his head. 

“Whatever it is, Vinny, you can tell me,” Hutch says. 

“It’s just that normally, we only tell stupid stories. You know, the man with the hook hand and the car door handle, that stuff,” Vincent says, letting the nickname slide again. “Only this time, Jack brought this really old book, and we took turns reading from it. It didn’t make  _ any _ sense.”

“Jack, he’s your other friend?” Hutch confirms, and Vincent nods. “Did he say where he got the book?” 

The boy shakes his head. 

“You think Jack would talk to me, Vinny? Or is he scared of cops?”

“Nah, none of us are scared of nothing!” the kid insists. This was key. “ _ And _ , my name is  _ Vincent. _ ”

Hutch wonders if these kids might have had less trouble if they were a little more scared. “Right. Sorry.”  

Back out in the Torino, Hutch scribbles notes furiously on the case file while Starsky puts his sunglasses on. He’s a little preoccupied, otherwise he’d notice how handsome his partner is in them. “You get anything?” 

“Yeah, the parents seem a little cold and a little strange,” Starsky says. “But they said the same thing; no sign of forced entry into the house, but the safe was opened uh, less elegantly. They were out for the evening.”

“I think it must be the kids, playing with occult stuff either on purpose or not knowing what it is. Still doesn't explain the thefts, really, but the ghost may be the bigger problem.” Hutch looks through the files, and the son in the third house is a John Jr.—Jack maybe to his friends, though he isn’t going to assume this time. “The boys definitely all know each other, and this Jack is supposed to have gotten an old book that they read out of. There was an  _ old  _ smell in there, too.”

Hutch taps the case file with his pencil. “I want to check out Billy's treehouse. As a wolf.”

“Wolfs can’t climb trees,” Starsky says, glancing over at Hutch. “Do you know where this treehouse is?”

“I assume on the Forbes’ huge property somewhere,” Hutch says, “and I was hoping you'd carry me.”

“How about you climb the tree,  _ then _ turn into the wolf?” Starsky turns the engine over anyway, and gets the Torino back on the street. “The kids are kind of spread out, but I guess the distance isn’t too bad if you’re riding a bike. I used to cover half the city on my ten-speed when I was in New York.”

“Well, in Duluth we had to snowshoe uphill both ways,” Hutch teases. “No, that's good to know. I wonder if they were, you know, sneaking out to do this. Guess so, the way Billy sounded. Okay. Let's see Jack about this book.”


	3. Chapter 3

“I don't got it anymore!” Jack explains, quite earnestly, when they ask. “It was stolen out of our tree house! Vincent thinks the maid took it, but I think someone musta stolen it!”

“Does the maid usually go up into the tree house?” Starsky wonders, and Jack looks at him like he’s just asked a very stupid question. “Okay, okay. So the book’s missing. You mind if we go up into the tree house and have a look around up there anyway? Just in case?”

“Good luck, buddy,” the kid said, sounding way too jaded and adult. “Pretty sure it's haunted.  _ I'm _ not going back there.”

“That’s what we’re looking for,” Starsky says, with a winning shrug. “Haunted.”

They find the treehouse where it’s indicated, and it’s really an impressive thing; not the sort of cobbled together treehouse he’d had when he was a kid. “This treehouse has stairs.”

“And the house has seventeen bedrooms and a swimming pool, Starsk,” Hutch says, ascending the stairs. He’s not in his wolf form, not yet, because it’s still daylight, but he sniffs around before Starsky’s smell gets all over it. “Smells like ectoplasm. And...maybe that old smell, again. But it’s faded.” 

He sniffs around a bit more, then beckons Starsky up to look around with him.  

“You gonna wolf it up?” Starsky asks, waiting on the porch where Hutch told him to until he’s beckoned inside. “Or are you mad I didn’t carry you up the stairs?”

Starsky checks all the obvious places to hide a book but doesn’t come up with anything except the usual kid’s treasures, which he leaves in place. “So, I don’t think the maid took the book but it’s unlikely it just walked off by itself. Any chance you could track down where it went, or should I call in an actual bloodhound unit?”

“You have no faith in me,” Hutch says, sounding playfully wounded, and begins undressing. “Yeah, just keep an eye out for—aah!” 

Hutch nearly jumps out of his skin (both skins, if he’s honest) when he sees movement further up in the tree and realizes it’s a person. Good thing he’s only gotten out of his jacket and shoes. “Hey! Who are you? Get down from there!”

“Ohh, ohh,” says a voice, old and grumbling and a little dazed. “Don’t shoot, ossifer. I’ll move along.”

Hutch sighs in combined relief and annoyance, though he supposes if he were homeless, this treehouse would be practically palatial. “It’s all right.” 

“Hey,” Starsky says, as the fellow comes down out of the tree branches above and peers owlishly at both of them. When the man’s got his feet on the ground, “You hang around up there all the time? Maybe you could help us out.”

“Nooo, sirr, no sir, I’ll move along. I didn’t see nothing,” the man says, trying to shuffle past. 

Hutch wonders if he’s referring to Hutch starting to take off his clothes, or something else. He’s older, Caucasian, greying beard, a backpack full of junk by the sound of it, clearly drunk; a sad picture. 

“You want us to take you in for the night, mister? Drunk tank’s as good a place as here to spend the night,” Hutch tries, with sympathy. “Or do you have someplace?”  

“Nnnnnope,” the guy declares, headed for the stairs. “Don’t wanna go to jail, I’m good.”

“Hey did you see anyone take a book out of here?” Starsky asks, getting in the way of the guy’s exit. 

“Nope, no, no, didn't see nothing,” he says, eyes down. 

Hutch gives him a sniff, but the smells are all mixed up that he can't tell anything beyond the ABV of whatever he's been drinking. “You got a name?”

“Call me Early. See, I don't want no trouble.”

“Okay, you can go,” Hutch says, and the vagrant shuffles off. 

Starsky moves obligingly out of the way before consulting with Hutch. “You don’t think he’s involved? Or at least saw who took the book?”

“Maybe. I don't think so.” Hutch sighs at Starsky, and then laughs, looking around some more. “Okay, now the wolf is gonna be shy.”

Leaning on one wall of the treehouse, Starsky laughs. “Whoever heard of a shy wolf? Okay, you want me to go up there and make sure there’s no other peeping Toms?”

“Noo,” Hutch says, playful now, and finishes undressing so he can change.

It's harder in the daytime, but there's an afternoon moon and it's still full enough, so he's able to do it after focusing for a few minutes. In his wolf form, he looks up at Starsky, whuffs at him once, and then begins sniffing around. 

The faint, confused smells of before are now clearer and stronger: kids, old, kids, ghost, old, kids, old man—he tries to zero in on the just “old” smell, hoping it might be the Book that they were talking about. And that's a traceable smell, unlike the ghost smell. It wasn’t quite Early’s old man smell, but something far more ancient. 

He whuffs again at Starsky and leads him down the steps, glancing back to make sure Starsky is carrying his clothes.  

Starsky folds the clothes up as casually as he can, all wrapped up in Hutch’s jacket as he follows what is obviously a wolf down from the treehouse, and figures there’s at least two unusual things about this situation and he’s probably more likely to get questions about Hutch than about why he’s carrying around a complete set of his partner’s clothes, underwear and all.

“I don’t think we ever went over what we should tell people when I’m out walking my dog,” Starsky says casually, as if Hutch could give him an answer. “I hope you won’t be offended if I tell them you’re a hundred percent husky, huh?”

Hutch whines, and barks once.  _ K-9, obviously, _ he tries to think at him. 

They’re also moving pretty quickly, with Hutch following the scent. They cover ground quickly, with Hutch leading them after the scent of this old thing, this book, and he breaks into a trot until Starsky is practically running to keep up with him. 

Starsky actually feels pretty good, jogging along like this with Hutch leading the way. It feels almost like a proper wolf pack, and Hutch seems convinced they’re going the right direction.

“Slow down just a little, and I can keep up,” Starsky promises. “Remember I got less legs than you, and I will put you on a leash if I have to.”

The last is an idle threat and they both know it. 

Hutch cocks his head at Starsky, though it probably looks less unimpressed than he intends it (probably, he's suspecting, it looks more cute than anything), and he leads them down an alleyway to some trash piles that his nose reveals are hovels that the homeless live in. Wolf-Hutch considers these perfectly serviceable, so he isn't wracked with guilt as he usually is when he sees these people and places (or worse yet, has to clear them out), and so stays on mission, presently unearthing a large...book. No one is around, and this looks as much like it was dumped here as hidden here. 

Hutch would really describe it as a  _ tome _ , since it has an ancient kind of feel (and taste, since he pulled it out in his mouth) and is marked with strange symbols. He gives it to Starsky and barks, triumphant. 

“Hey! Lookit that,” Starsky says, wondering at Hutch’s abilities. He takes the book, and then ruffles Hutch's ears, pats his neck to express what a good job he's done physically, which the wolf seems to like. He flips through the book, then tucks it under his arm. “We should take this back to Huggy, I'll bet he knows what to do with it.”

Hutch whuffs in agreement, and then halfway looks around for a place to change back before he realizes they're further from the car than from The Pits, and sighs. 

“Well, look what the werewolf drug in!” Huggy cackles when they return via the back entrance, and he pats Hutch like he's not at all a vicious predator. Hutch maybe begins to understand what cats feel like. “You know, you're a walking health code violation, baby. Gonna have to lie and say you’re Starsky’s emotional support animal.”

Now he's just teasing both of them. 

“He’s a service canine,” Starsky says, defensively. He passes Hutch the pile of clothes he’s still carrying, to let him change in the bathroom in dignity. “Besides, you got lots of health code violations without our help. I’m pretty sure that soup is getting ready to stage a revolt.”

He grins, clearly teasing, and then offers Huggy the book they’d found. “I couldn’t make heads or tails of this. I think it might be in Latin. I guess the kids managed to read from it alright, if they summoned a ghost out of it. You got any idea?”

Hutch returns, half-dressed, from a broom closet, while Huggy is still perusing. “I'm starting to think that ‘Early’ knows more than he was letting on.” 

He had been waiting a while to say that, so it comes as something of a non sequitur.

“I figured he did right from the start, he was out of there awful quick,” Starsky says. “And with where we found the book…I got a few questions for that guy.”

Hutch lays a hand on Starsky’s shoulder. “Also, thanks for carting my clothes around, buddy, but you did lose a sock.”

“Well, it coulda been worse,” Starsky says. “I kept your underwear.”

Hutch rolls his eyes, though he doesn’t put it past Starsky to misplace his underwear on purpose, and he gives his neck a warning if companionate squeeze as he turns to Huggy: “You ever heard of a person of no address calling himself ‘Early’?” 

“If he has no address, who calls him ‘Early’?” Huggy wonders, sounding mysterious. 

Hutch just gives him a hard look, dragon or no.

Huggy chuckles gleefully. “Nah, I got you. I’ll see what I can find out.”

Hutch finally shoves Starsky over in the booth and sits. “And what do you make of this book?” 

“Well, it’s old. Real old,” Huggy says, flipping through. “Probably belongs to some kind of jazzed up magician. Why he ever let it out of his sight is another question entirely. This, in the wrong hands, could be proper dangerous.”

“Sooo, is this something we want in lockup?” Hutch asks, “or do we want to look for the original owner? Who, say, might be grateful enough to help us out?”

“Cat, you know magic like that is illegal,” Huggy admonishes, “so you ask your man that, dig? If he wants my advice, I'd say don't piss off the owner of this  _ if he has this with him _ .”

Hutch nods, solemnly.

Huggy flips a few more pages, and then stops, tapping a set of diagrams, turning the book around to show Starsky and Hutch.

“What am I looking at?” Starsky wonders, glancing at his partner to see if Hutch knows, either.

“A bona-fide summoning spell. This is your culprit. It’s a who’s-who of boos,” Huggy says, tapping the page. “With this even you two non-magical rubes could call something up from the afterlife. You’d have to instill it on a…command vessel though. Someone who could give orders to the restless spirit you conjured.”

“Do you think the kids did this? You know, messing around? And now they're commanding the ghost?” Hutch wonders. If it's just the kids causing trouble for their own parents, it's at least unlikely anyone would press charges. 

It's dark now, though, and they're only working until midnight tonight, so it's unlikely they can make any further headway on this case until tomorrow. Hutch sighs. “Hey, Hug, can I get something to eat?”

“Sure thing,” Huggy says, flopping the book closed. “What about you, Starsky?”

“Yes, please, Huggy,” Starsky says, rubbing his hands together because he’s only eaten a hot dog all day and he’s pretty hungry too. 

“You want me to put this somewhere safe?” Huggy asks, with a hint of mischievousness that suggests he has plans for it. 

“Uh, we’ll take care of it, Hug, thanks,” Starsky says, trading a glance with Hutch. “We’ve got some kind of lockup for these things, right?”

Hutch shifts uncomfortably. They do have a special lockup down at the precinct, but he doesn't think it's capable of holding something this...big. 

Also, there's a niggling concern in the back of his mind in his Mother’s voice telling him  _ A wealthy dragon is a good friend to have.  _ He trusts Huggy either way, of course, because he's a friend before he's a dragon, but this could come in handy. The cover of the book is heavily gilded, and Hutch doesn't think the gold and jewels are fake. It's...not a  _ bribe _ . It’s an exchange for good will and information that will probably help them later. He knows Huggy won’t use it: dragons just like to have shiny things. 

“We  _ do _ ,” he tells Starsky, squeezing his knee under the table, indicating a  _ trust me _ and  _ I'll tell you later _ , “but Huggy’s got one, too, and it’s more secure in a lot of ways… You don't think it'll put you in danger, do you, Hug? Like if this...mage comes looking for it?”

“Listen, if you had to back a fight, who are you putting money on?” Huggy asks, grinning toothily. “The man wiggling his fingers and speakin’ Latin, or the dragon?”

“Okay, I guess the book’s safe with you then,” Starsky says. “If you find anything about undoing that spell in there, give us a holler, will you?”

“What you can do, you can undo,” Huggy assures, and then goes to get them their dinner, returning with a couple of hamburgers once he’s disappeared the book to someplace safe, presumably with the rest of his hoard of goodies. 

“It’s almost like a date,” Hutch says, noting that they’re sitting on the same side of the booth, cozy and close. Though only kitchen staff—all vetted by Huggy and therefore, on some level, safe—walk in and out of the space, Hutch still feels a little daring taking Starsky’s hand under the table. “We’re still on the clock for three hours, I was thinking maybe we could cruise a little downtown, and then—you want to come over? Or are you sick of me?” 

It’s mostly teasing, but they  _ do _ spend a lot of time together. Though Starsky is the more extroverted of the two, it’s possible he could get sick of seeing Hutch all the time, or want to go out with someone else for a change. 

“I mean, don’t you get sick of  _ me  _ sometimes?” Starsky says. “You hardly seem to spend any time with your pack anymore. They’re gonna think I’m a jealous lover.”

With a wink at Hutch, Starsky tucks into his food, pounding down his hamburger in almost record time. 

“No!” Hutch says, a little too quickly, like he was ready to blurt out  _ Move in with me!  _ next, but he recovers with a small cough. “They don’t care, anyway, except once a month, and—I do like spending time with you. Wolf does, too.” 

His smile is a little bashful, but it’s easy to be honest with Starsky. Taking a bite of his own burger, he says, “So you’ll come over tonight?” 

“Well, when you’re so nice about it, of course I will,” Starsky says, grinning. “Besides, there’s still a few things I’d like to try. And none of them is your breakfast smoothie. But before all that, we gotta get back to the car, huh?”

Hutch almost begins to tell him he doesn’t keep much else for breakfast before he realizes Starsky probably isn’t talking about that, and he actually blushes as he turns back to his meal. “Yeah, let’s—let’s get going.” 

They hit their usual beat, run down a few parolees who know better, and even spend an extra half-hour on the clock since they took a long dinner. They both complain, but it doesn’t matter to Hutch whether they’re working or just hanging out: time spent with Starsky is better than time spent doing almost anything else. 

“We can get back on the case in the morning, try to run down this ‘Early’ character,” Hutch says, getting instinctively into Starsky’s car before he remembers he drove himself. “Oh! I should—I can drive myself, I guess. You want to grab some beers for us? Maybe some eggs for breakfast?” 

He winks. 

“Yeah I’ll catch you at your place, and I’ll bring some groceries,” Starsky says. “You need me to bring anything else? Anything  _ practical? _ ”

He enjoys Hutch’s blush, and smiles all the way to the store.


	4. Chapter 4

Starsky parks just up the street from Hutch’s place, carrying a bag with the supplies for the evening and morning after in one hand, and a six pack of decent beer in the other, tapping lightly on Hutch’s door.

“You order a pizza?” he asks, leaning in the doorway casually when Hutch opens the door. “Or you got a...plumbing problem?”

“I think we've got all the makings of a pretty good porno with just the werewolf thing,” Hutch laughs as he shuts the door behind Starsky and then kisses him. “And I made popcorn and sliced apples, but I could grill some cheese sandwiches if you're still hungry. Haven't checked if there's a game on yet…”

“I ate enough at Huggy’s not so long ago,” Starsky reminds, stepping past Hutch and into the kitchen to put the beer and eggs in the fridge. He pulls two of the beers out of the carton, and then pops them both open on the bottle opener before returning to the living room and passing one to Hutch.

Hutch had very quickly cleaned his whole house, vacuumed the wolf hair up, did the dishes, and lit some candles, cleaned off the counter in his bathroom and even changed the sheets. It was really just to distract himself from his nerves. Though they had been—whatever they were, dating?—for several weeks, Hutch still felt a schoolboy nervousness whenever Starsky came over, like they were back in the Academy and Starsky was the cool guy who knew everything and had been everywhere and Hutch was still the sheltered Midwest boy. 

Did his breath smell all right? Had he shaved? Did he have enough condoms and lube?—this he did check, and yes, plenty, otherwise he would have had to embarrassedly tell Starsky to get some from the store. “I'm still watering my plants.” 

“Did you vacuum?” Starsky asks, looking at the neat lines in the carpet and then grinning up at Hutch. “You know you don’t have to dress the place up for me. Have you seen where I live?”

He shrugs: interior design was not something he had any real interest in, and Hutch’s place was nice enough, even without being dusted and vacuumed. 

“No,” Hutch says, then, “yes. Just a little. Got someone coming over that I wanted to impress.” 

He hopes his grin is bright enough to distract Starsky, as he pulls him in for a kiss that tastes like beer. 

“Well, I’m impressed,” Starsky says, between kisses. He gets his arms up around Hutch’s shoulders, trapping the blender jar between their bodies briefly before he steps back to let him finish his watering job, settling onto the couch with a sigh. “So, how often can you change? Uh, sorry, is that one of the rude questions? I just  knew you could on the full moon before. Seems to make you hungry, too.”

“Not rude at all, you’ve got a right to know,” Hutch says, watering the plants just to get rid of the water now. 

“The science of it is pretty untested, as you’d imagine,” Hutch begins, like it irritates him, because it does, “but basically any time the moon is anything larger than a crescent, and reflecting light onto this hemisphere, I can change. It’s harder, the less moonlight there is, and yeah, I’ll get hungrier. More tired, sometimes, if I change too often. It’s like changing clothes, if changing clothes was somehow really exhausting.” 

“I’ll bet.” Starsky might not ever know what it’s like, but he can at least sympathize with how he feels when he gets really hungry and tired, anyway.

Hutch laughs, motioning to the couch. “It’s only involuntary one night of the month, and sometimes some wolves get buggy if they don’t get let out on either side of the full moon, too. I don’t— _ usually _ .”

“Well, if you want me to send you away after a full moon,” Starsky says, remembering the last time Hutch turned up at his door. “It’s just that you’re awful cute as a wolf, even if you are really pushy.”

Now Hutch looks down bashfully again. Their knees are knocking on the couch, and Hutch traces a finger over Starsky’s knee. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that. If we’re talking, anyway.”  

Starsky, listening intently to the whole explanation like it’s completely fascinating, leans into Hutch’s touch, TV forgotten for the moment.  “I’m talking, you’re talking. Well, I’m listening more than talking, but that’s because I wanna know. Especially if there’s anything I can do to help you when you don’t have any hands. Aside from uh, lose your socks. So what do I need to know?” 

“Oh, yeah, you owe me some new socks,” Hutch says, entirely kidding, but not missing an opportunity to tease his partner. “So, ah, right.” He coughs. “I really should be spending the full moon with my pack. It’s—important, you know, social bonds and things. Human-me knows that, but wolf-me forgets, because he wants to, ah, you know, spend time with you, too.”

“Sure, and I have a great time with you no matter what shape you’re in,” Starsky says, earnestly. “You’re a little more mouthy as a wolf, but it’s still you. So how can I help fix this? You want me to spend time with your pack on the full moon, too, or is that a bad idea? Will they eat me? Of course, we could always just spend wolf-time together when it’s easy for you to change, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s exactly what I mean,” Hutch says, squeezing Starsky’s knee. “That’s what I—well,  _ both  _ of those are good ideas.” 

Hutch grins hugely, already feeling lighter and less pulled in two directions. “I mean, yeah, we could—just you and me, as long as you won’t let wolf-me bully you too much—you mean you don’t mind? And you could come out and meet the pack, too, though we mostly go for long runs, and I know how you hate running.” 

Hutch couldn’t be happier if Starsky had just said he wanted to meet his parents. His new pack  _ are  _ basically his parents.

“I like it when you push me around,” Starsky says, pushing Hutch back on the couch and crawling halfway into his lap. “Besides, maybe I can’t keep up running around, but I can keep lookout and avoid anybody trying to feed me any raw rabbits or anything. Doesn’t anyone else have any human buddies who are in the know? Seemed like there was a process in place when I found out, and Dobey seemed, uhhh, unsurprised this morning by all the rest.”

“Yeah, there’s—mm,” Hutch says, delighted by this new arrangement, running his hands over Starsky’s broad chest and shoulders. “Yeah, sometimes the spouses will get together and—how do you feel about babysitting? Pup-sitting?” 

“Oh, I’m the house-wife now?” Starsky laughs. “But yeah, I like kids. As long as they aren’t summoning ghosts.”

Hutch laughs. Maybe he could stay with him the first time. 

He starts unbuttoning Hutch’s shirt, taking his time. “Besides, wolf-you loves TV, and he’s better at frisbee than you are. I mean there’s really only one thing we can’t do together.”

Hutch leans up, distracted by Starsky’s adam’s apple from this angle, and he keeps trying to lick it, eyes half-closing. “Yeah? What’s that?” 

Starsky pushes Hutch’s shirt off his shoulders, getting to work on his belt. “I’ll show you.”

He takes his time with getting Hutch undone, undressed. Pulling his boots off first, then his single remaining sock and dropping them in a lump on the floor before he has to sit up to untangle Hutch’s high-waisted pants from his hips, slow and careful, taking his time, pressing a kiss to the inside of Hutch’s knee before he sits up to get his own shirt off, letting his hands wander over Hutch’s body attentively now that he’s got access to all of it.

Starsky’s every movement is beautiful and sure: not quite the fluidity of a dancer, exactly, but someone who could fake it well enough to impress anyone. He almost moves, Hutch thinks, like a wolf.

Hutch arches his hips up as Starsky pulls his underwear off, and Hutch laughs. “That's only because the wolf doesn't wear clothes. Come here.”

Hutch actually growls as he hauls Starsky in for a kiss, digging his fingernails into the back of his neck lightly, and unbuttoning Starsky's fly to reach in and get his hands on his cock, stroking him the rest of the way to hardness. 

“Doesn't have any thumbs, either,” Starsky gasps, rolling his hips into the motion, growling right back at Hutch as they kiss and grind together on the couch. He runs his hands over Hutch’s sides and down his body to get his hands on Hutch’s cock in return, getting them both lined up so they can thrust against each other, keeping his motions small, teasing. “Besides, you know that’s not what I meant.”

He pauses to get his own pants off, shifting his weight over Hutch’s middle until they’re both finally naked on the couch, free to touch each other. Starsky supposes if everyone’s going to smell it on them  _ anyway _ they might as well make the most of it, while it’s still new and exciting. He gets his mouth on Hutch, next. On his partner’s belly, on the point of his hip, stroking his cock as he watches out of the corner of his eye. 

“Where do you keep everything?” Starsky wonders, right against Hutch’s skin, before he sits up teasingly. “‘Cause I think we’re gonna need everything.”

“Shit, yeah,” Hutch says, as if waking from a dream or a stupor. He sits up, struggling to stop kissing Starsky so he can talk. “It’s in the bedroom. Wanna—?” 

The answer is of course yes, and they pull each other to their feet and leave their clothes in piles on the floor and on the couch, their beers half-drunk, apple slices turning brown. Hutch is glad to realize that he’s not the only one who wanted this all day, apparently, as he walks Starsky backwards into the bedroom, still kissing him.  

“You ever done this before?” Hutch has the presence of mind to ask, after he’s tossed Starsky onto the bed and tossed condoms and lube after him. 

Starsky catches the lube out of the air and lets the condoms hit the bed harmlessly next to him. That was an interesting question, honestly. “Which part? I’m sure there’s  _ some _ things I’ve never done before, but this part I have.”

It was a while ago, but Hutch can surely figure that out. Besides, what’s there to it, really? Hutch is looking at him like he’s trying to figure out the pieces to the puzzle that Starsky just laid out, and Starsky sighs.

“It was a while ago, right after the end of high school,” Starsky reveals. “But I pretty much got up to everything that I figure you can get up to. I was uh, adventurous. I mean, am I facing anything unexpected with you?” 

Hutch chuckles lowly, and presses their bodies together in a long line as he kisses Starsky, slowly, this time, unhurried. “Sorry, didn’t mean to hold an inquisition or anything. Just glad we get to skip the... _ mechanics _ part of tonight’s talk.” 

He grins and kisses Starsky again before stretching out on top of him. “Anyway, nothing unexpected in  _ this  _ form…” 

“Oh  _ this _ form, huh? Plenty of surprises already anyway,” Starsky says, sliding his hands over Hutch’s back to get hold of his ass and give an appreciative squeeze, letting Hutch pin him down to the bed. “What about you, you got anything you haven’t done that you’d like to?”

“I’ve got an extensive list,” Hutch says. 

Starsky presses a kiss back to Hutch, sighing when they break apart and rolling his hips up, generating a little friction between them, before he manages to get the lube open between his hands. “Are we wrestling for who’s on top or will you just let me surrender?”

Hutch laughs, delighted by this admission. “Oh, you  _ do  _ like it when I push you around, don’t you?” 

As an experiment, Hutch grabs Starsky’s wrists and pins them to either side of his head before taking him in a searing kiss. “Do you  _ want  _ to wrestle? Or just skip to the part where I win?”  

Starsky shifts and stretches under Hutch, testing his grip a little, checking his limits. “You make an interesting argument, but I think I have to at least pretend to fight you for it, right?”

He heaves his hips up to shove Hutch over, and they both land on the crinkling condom packets and cold lube bottle in the ensuing struggle, Starsky laughing and answering Hutch’s faint growls with his own until they’ve wrecked the sheets and Hutch has him pinned and out of breath and hard as a rock.

“Okay,” Starsky grunts, satisfied, voice low and purring. “Now I surrender.” 

Hutch is laughing again, triumphant, a little sweaty, and definitely more turned on than before, so it did the trick. He has a competitive streak in him that doesn’t like to lose, and when it had looked like Starsky could win, he had been 100% willing to change and make sure he didn’t, but then Starsky’s strength gave out—or he gave it up—and Hutch sighed out and kissed him, pressing him into the mattress with all of his body weight. “Good boy.”

“You think you’re gonna train me?” Starsky laughs, but the praise had gone through him anyway, thrilling him and leaving him feeling warm all over as he stopped struggling to catch his breath and let Hutch get hold of the lube. He knows this will eventually turn the tables and go the other way around, and for now he’s perfectly content to try things this way.  _ Probably _ Hutch has more recent experience that wasn’t acquired in the back of his uncle’s van with his prom date’s older brother…

“Hey,” Hutch says, kissing Starsky again until he refocuses, lost in a dream or memory or just the sensations. “I want your eyes on me. Hands above your head. Positive reinforcement works on  _ everyone _ .”   

Then Hutch is stroking him again, getting him good and relaxed as he works the lube and Starsky obeys his order to keep his hands over his head, as if they were actually held in place by anything more than the suggestion of a command. He groans when Hutch starts prying him open with lubed up fingers. “...yeah, you’re probably right.” 

“That’s it,” Hutch purrs, propping Starsky’s legs up under his thighs so he can finger him open while he’s stroking his cock, working him through the sting until he can tell all of it’s good—then he hooks his fingers forward to find his prostate, wondering if Starsky’s ever done  _ this  _ before. 

Starsky’s voice climbs out of him, wordless and on an upward, surprised noise, and his body arches up, pushes  _ into _ the contact as he grips the blankets over his head, and manages, “Hutch!”

Maybe he’s gotten close to this before, but Hutch seems to know right where to get his fingers, how to put pressure and where so that Starsky feels like his whole body is trapped between Hutch’s fist on his dick and where he is inside of him. His eyes close and Starsky writhes, and he doesn’t  _ want _ to but he manages to gasp, “...slow down, slow down, or I’m gonna…”

“Good,” Hutch says, almost growls, his fingers continuing their assault of his senses. “I won, so I get to do whatever I want with you. And I want you to come.”

Starsky arches up, and it takes only a few seconds more, a few more shallow pumps of his hips as Hutch works his fingers inside before Starsky’s spilling through his fingers, growling and clutching the sheets at the head of the bed as his body locks up and then slowly relaxes, going slack except for his heaving chest. 

“Yeah, that’s it, that’s it,” Hutch soothes, leaving his fingers still inside Starsky, still lightly caressing his prostate, and he lifts his other hand to his mouth to lick the smears of come off his fingers. He groans like it’s delicious—though it isn’t quite, of course, he just loves letting all his senses smell and taste  _ Starsky _ , with no latex in the way this time. “That’s good.” 

He stretches out on top of Starsky again, smearing what’s left of the the mess into Starsky’s chest hair and into his own skin, where the smell will stay for a few days, if he’s lucky, and he kisses Starsky again, and gets one arm under his head. 

“I want to see how long before you’re ready for round two,” he whispers, kissing his cheeks and neck, pressing blunt teeth into his skin too gently to mark him, three fingers still inside him, working him open, and gently massaging that bundle of nerves. Hutch is hard as a rock, but he can wait for this. 

“Who says I’m not?” Starsky sighs, still hanging onto the sheets, though he leans right up into the kisses Hutch offers for his mouth, and rolls his body up to give Hutch access where he wants, finding even he’s almost acutely aware of the scent of sex starting to fill the room. “Unless  _ you’re _ not ready to hold out while you fuck me until I get hard again?”

He gives Hutch a playful glance, their gazes meeting in a challenge that Starsky backs up with a lazy grin. “Where’s that legendary Hutchinson stamina? You need a little more wheatgrass?”

“Oh- _ ho _ ,” Hutch laughs, letting himself be goaded, “ _ now _ you’re in for it.” 

Hutch slides on a condom one-handed, but has to withdraw his fingers and wipe them clean to get the lube open again. Once his cock is as slick as it’s going to be, he rolls Starsky to one side, and then up onto his knees and elbows. “I think you’re going to regret that comment, someday. Probably not tonight, but someday.” 

Hutch wonders if Starsky would ever go for a 48-hour fast. 

“That’s got a lot of promise,” Starsky says, bracing himself on his knees like Hutch guides him, and reaching up to get his hands onto the slats of Hutch’s headboard, hanging on and arching his back. “But right now it’s still all talk.”

Maybe he shouldn’t be taunting the guy who’s got him in a very vulnerable position, but Starsky trust him, and they know how it is when they push each other’s buttons; it’s never meant as anything other than teasing. All talk. Starsky chuckles, when he feels Hutch moving into place. “All bark and no bite.”

“Please, no dog puns,” Hutch says, quite seriously, and then, as he begins to take him, inch by slow but steady inch, he says with a strangled chuckle, “not when we’re doing it doggy-style.” 

“That’s,” Starsky starts, strained, voice a little rough as Hutch works him further open and he shifts to make the slide easier, to get Hutch where he wants him. It feels amazing, even if it’s tight, Hutch is taking his time and Starsky is already beginning to appreciate how close this brings them, how attuned he feels. He gasps, finishing, “the  _ best _ time to make dog puns. You know, when you’re trying to make me beg?”

“Ha,” Hutch says, and it trails off into an actual laugh, and he runs a hand up and down Starsky’s spine, slick with sweat. “Don’t make me laugh, I’m trying to  _ focus _ .” 

Hutch leans down to plant a kiss between Starsky’s shoulder blades, and reaches around him to get a hand on Starsky’s cock, which is already beginning to show interest again. “I’d love to hear you really beg, though. Maybe someday.” 

The kiss turns into a bite as he sheathes himself fully, and begins stroking Starsky’s cock. 

If he has anything else to say, it drowns in Starsky’s inarticulate groan, and he drops himself lower on his elbows, pushing his cheek into the pillow and just letting himself feel as he hangs onto the headboard tight and lets Hutch wring him out. He stays still until Hutch starts moving, and then feels the counterpoint to the rhythm and moves with it, before one of his hands pries free of the headboard and moves down, just to hang onto Hutch’s hand on his cock; not pushing or driving him faster but just hanging on to Hutch, feeling the tendons in his wrist move. 

Hutch, for the record that Starsky is definitely not keeping in his mind, is much better at this than his prom date’s older brother. 

“Easy, easy,” Hutch whispers, sweet and gentling, even as he’s wringing Starsky for everything he’s got. “Gonna come for me, babe?”

He kisses Starsky’s shoulders, his neck, and bites gently, tries a hand in Starsky’s hair, which they both seem to enjoy. He groans, changing the angle until the bow to Starsky’s back tells him he’s hitting his prostate. “I am. So close, Starsk. Gonna just—God, you feel so good, buddy, I—” 

“C’mon,” Starsky coaxes. “C’mon.”

“That’s it, come for me, baby,” Hutch grunts, and fucks him hard and raw and groans as he comes buried deep inside him, working Starsky frantically with his hand. 

Then Starsky lets go, fingers going tight on Hutch’s wrist, body gripping hold of Hutch the same way as Starsky growls through it in pulses, lost to everything but sensation before he goes slack again, and has to make a conscious effort to hold himself up. 

“That,” Starsky breathes, a little silly with endorphins. “Has gotta be  _ some _ wheatgrass.”

Hutch laughs, easing them to one side and guiding Starsky down while he pulls out, a little shaky but feeling great as he tries to catch his breath, and he just crawls on top of Starsky and lays there for several minutes until he can breathe again. “I told you, I just want to impress you.” 

“I’m impressed,” Starsky agrees, laying boneless and comfortable under Hutch, lifting his still slightly sticky hand to press his mouth to Hutch’s palm, the tips of his long fingers. 

As part of impressing him, Hutch gets a washcloth to clean them and the bed up, and disposes of the condom and the lube. Packets of condoms are everywhere: he’ll deal with that in the morning. “So you’re sure you’re not hungry?” 

“Hmm, now that you mention it,” Starsky says. “I could eat. Gimme a minute to get my sealegs back and visit the little boy’s room.”

Briefly, he seems to doze, just utterly relaxed in Hutch’s arms, content to press close to him and let the rest of afterglow play out without getting up until he rouses a few minutes later, giving a stretch with a long groan, and heading into the bathroom. 

“If I have to chase anybody tomorrow I hope they don’t ask about why I’m running bowlegged,” Starsky says, fishing his boxers out of the pile of clothes by the couch, and then his undershirt, and that’s as dressed as he seems willing to get in order to eat dinner.

It's more of a midnight snack, or a two a.m. snack at this point, but Hutch is treating it like dinner, grilling sandwiches and cutting up carrot sticks to go with the apple slices. Hutch is wearing a robe, tired very loosely. “If we have to chase anyone, I'm making the wolf do it.”

He adds, seriously and with concern, “You’re okay though?  _ That's  _ an injury I don't want to explain to Dobey.”

“Oh yeah, I’m totally okay,” Starsky says. “Out of practice is all; feels sore like my arm does when I go bowling.”

He pulls another beer out of the fridge, and hops up on the counter next to where Hutch is cooking, just a little more reluctantly than usual. Once he’s sitting, he seems fine. “You know what that means? I’ll just have to keep practicing. Say, do you know where I can find an exercise buddy?”

Hutch rolls his eyes, but chuckles and leans in for a kiss in spite of himself. “Maybe next time we let you pitch and I catch, while you're getting warmed up for the big leagues.”

Then Hutch really laughs: maybe he's sleepy, his metaphors are getting away from him. He nudges Starsky’s knees apart and settles against his chest, relishing in this moment being shorter than Starsky and just breathing in his scent. 

Starsky puts his hands around Hutch’s shoulders, and runs his fingers through his fine blonde hair, gently, and just enjoys the moment, too. It’s rare they get to let their guards completely down like this, even for each other, and it feels safer and softer than anything else has for a while. Hutch wraps his arms low around Starsky's hips, tight enough that he can almost touch his elbows behind him.

“Hey, Hutch?” Starsky says, with his mouth against the crown of Hutch’s head and one hand rubbing his shoulders through the robe. “You are the big leagues.”


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, they make it to work on time, in spite of  _ wanting _ to stay in bed all day, and hit the homeless shelters and panhandling spots looking for this man called Early. 

“You don't suppose he's back at the treehouse, do you?” Hutch wonders when they stop for a bagel. He's tried sniffing around, of course, but couldn't get a specific enough scent from the guy—that was its own weird problem. “But if he's the culprit, why hasn't he pawned anything yet?”

“How’d these kids get ahold of this book in the first place?” Starsky points out. “Maybe he has other uses for the jewelry, or maybe the kids are playing buried treasure with it and he was just looking for a place to crash. If we can find him, we can ask him, right?” 

Starsky shakes hands with a few people he’s met over the course of his career, asking more questions than just about Early, but in the end he doesn’t come up with much.

“So, I hate to suggest this instead of good solid policework,” Starsky says, as they head back to the car. “But wouldn’t you say there’s something a little  _ unnatural  _ about a homeless guy no other homeless guy’s ever seen? Maybe even...magical?”

“That would explain the smell,” Hutch grumbles, and then elaborates: “Or the lack of smell. Or—the book and the guy we saw yesterday having the same two-hundred-year-old smell. Anyway, it's not very precise, or like it'll hold up in court. Maybe we need to interview the kids again.”

He stops by the car, pulling on the handle. “Did you lock the door?”

That would have been odd. Starsky doesn't hardly ever lock, unless they've got something in the car that's really valuable. “Why is the radio flickering?”

“No I didn’t lock the—” Starsky protests, but then he peers into the car at the radio, before he holds up the keys in his hand. The radio  _ shouldn’t _ be flickering. Nothing should be getting power. Starsky unlocks the door and starts to pull it open, when the lock clicks closed again. He glares over the the top of the car at Hutch, as if it’s  _ his _ fault. “Is my car haunted?”

Then Hutch smells it, smells the ozone, and winces. “We should maybe take a step back from the...ah...”

He stops talking when he realizes he can see his breath, and a chill runs through him. Hutch sends a panicked look at Starsky, who’s frantically putting the key in the lock. 

“Starsky, don't touch the—!” Hutch cries, but too late, as an invisible force actually picks him up and hurls him back into the opposite wall of the alley. “Starsk!”

Starsky, blinking in utter disbelief, picks himself up off the ground, more stunned than hurt. He doesn’t seem to be a fast learner, however, because he makes a B-line for his car immediately. “Nobody messes with my car, alive  _ or _ dead!”

“Starsky, stop!” Hutch says, running around the car to interpose himself between Starsky and the car, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. “What are you going to do?” 

You can’t fight the undead, them being incorporeal and all, and anyway, as a figure begins to materialize, they realize it’s...just a kid. For a second it looks creepy, sitting there in the driver’s seat, and then it blows a raspberry at Starsky. 

Starsky sticks his tongue right back out at it, crossing his arms over his chest. “Get out of my car, you little postmortem punk!”

“Starsky, we can't—” Hutch says, keeping Starsky from going after the ghost several more times. “Look, let's try to talk to it. Maybe it knows who summoned it. Or you can call Huggy and ask him what to do while I try to talk to it.”

‘It’ has just figured out how to turn on the wiper blades and hazard lights, so that's keeping it amused. 

“Hutch,” Starsky says, as if he’s the one of the two being reasonable, here. “That ghost is a known thief, and now it has my  _ car _ .”

He relents when Hutch pushes him back one last time, with a growl and a sigh, and then goes to find a pay phone. “I’m calling an exorcist, so you better make it quick!”

The ghost manages to activate the horn, making the both of them jump and wince, and looks extremely pleased with himself. 

“Easy, easy,” Hutch says, grabbing Starsky again. “There's a phone right there, Huggy will know who to call.”

Hutch makes sure Starsky is heading toward the pay phone before he turns back to the car, approaching gingerly, and shivering a little as the air gets colder. “Hey there, kid.”

The ghost is a boy, Hutch thinks, perhaps Latino, and isn't looking at him. He wonders if ghosts understand people, or if he should try Spanish. “Hey, ah. Any idea what you're doing in my buddy's car? ¿Por qué estás en el auto, muchacho?” 

At that, the ghost looks at him, the wipers and lights and radio flickering in agitation. “I speak English.”

“Right, sorry. Me, too. See, that's my friend's car, and, ah. A police car.” This makes the boy look a little worried, like he might get in trouble. “You want us to take you home?”

“That’s silly,” the boy says, turning the radio on and then off, then the wipers, restless. “I can’t go home. Nobody can take me home. And I gotta—”

He stops abruptly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away, like he can’t continue for some reason. Angrily, he pushes the seat forward and back, looking away from Hutch in stubborn refusal. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Hutch says, trying to keep the little-boy-ghost calm so he doesn’t do anything crazy. “What is it? What do you gotta do?”

The ghost is getting more agitated, turning up the radio louder, so Hutch tries a different approach. “Who could we talk to? Do you need help dealing with someone?”

“Can’t say,” the boy says, kicking ineffectively at the console. “Doesn’t matter.  _ You _ can’t do anything, since you’re not a wizard.”

“What if—what if we got a wizard. Early? Could he help—”

Oh, the ghost does  _ not  _ like that name, which is its own clue. The engine starts, and revs. 

“What if we got another wizard to come help, instead? A nice one?” Hutch tries. “We’re just trying to help. You don’t have to steal, you know.” 

The ghost-boy looks at him like he’s stupid. “Yes I do.” 

Then he disappears. The car shuts off and unlocks. 

“Huggy’s on the way with an exorcist,” Starsky calls, as he returns down the street from the payphone. “That’ll teach you, you little see-through menace.”

The car is, of course, empty. And Starsky puts his hands on his hips and gives Hutch a side eye, at least until he discovers how much black goop is on his seats, and panic mode kicks in. He pulls a bunch of wadded up napkins out of the glove compartment and gets to work cleaning it up. “Why do ghosts make such a  _ mess _ ?”

“I—” Hutch is still stunned that it disappeared, that he got through to it, or upset it enough to leave. A million better questions ran through his head of what he should have asked it, but he’s honestly glad the ghost didn’t smash the car to pieces. He’s sure Starsky loves him, but he’s not sure he loves him enough that he wouldn’t have blamed whatever happened to the Torino on him. He shakes himself into action when Starsky discovers the ectoplasm, and he makes a dash for the corner store, returning with baby wipes and a roll of paper towels and getting on his knees to help clean it up. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I thought I was—I was trying to calm it down. Maybe we should relocate, in case it comes back.” 

Hutch wasn’t exactly sure how ghosts followed people around, or if moving the car would help. “How quick did Huggy say he’d be here?” 

“I don’t know, how long does it take to find an exorcist priest?” Starsky asks. “Or a rabbi, or whatever.”

“Ask, and you shall receive,” Huggy says. “I’m here, this is my man Father Jacobs. Now where’s that ghost we need to de-host?”

“It’s already flown the coop,” Starsky says. “Can you do a pre-emptive one on the car in case it decides to come back?” 

“I can douse it in holy water,” the priest offers, “and give you some more, in case you need it.”

Hutch reaches for his wallet but the priest holds up a hand. “Put it in the donation box at Saint Mary's on 14th.”

“Right,” Hutch says. The wallet trick was to try to spot a phony, but that seemed legit. The holy water smells real to Hutch, anyway, with which the priest sprinkles the outside of the car. 

“Now I don't want to damage the leather so I won't sprinkle any water inside, except in the floorboards,” Father Jacobs says, turning to Starsky, so how do you feel about incense instead?”

Starsky looks askance at Hutch; he was the one with the sensitive nose, not that he’s too keen on riding around in a car that reeks of patchouli or something, either.  “Well, hopefully they aren’t necessary, but maybe just in the driver’s seat. My partner’s got allergies.”

Hutch gives him a private smile. 

With a shrug, Father Jacobs goes to comply, and Starsky pulls Huggy aside. “Any luck with that book?” 

“I could maybe lay some protections on the car, but I thought, why not get a priest for that?” Huggy says, and then shrugs, sorry that he can't be more helpful, and a mite touchy about it. “There's a few ghost spells, but you know what, if your Latin’s so good, man, why don't you take a look?”

They're interrupted by Hutch giving a cry. “Hey, is that  _ him _ ?”

He points at a figure that darts immediately into the next alleyway over, barks “Starsk!” and begins to run.

Maybe it’d be smarter to get in the car, but something about Hutch springing into action sends Starsky bounding after him too, booking it for all he’s worth after the fleeing man. He passes Hutch, going full tilt, feeling that little surge of excitement he gets when he lays his eyes on the prize and then he has to…chase it down. 

Starsky and Hutch don’t run together often, so Hutch is kind of baffled when Starsky passes him,  _ easily  _ in a dead sprint, and wonders again why God didn’t make him a werewolf. He’d be unstoppable on four legs. 

Starsky gets into the zone where he’s running flat out, managing to call an authoritative ‘Police! Stop!’ but it doesn’t work, and for a scrawny drunk looking guy who’s probably a wizard, Early’s pretty fast. Starsky still manages to catch up with him, more or less through sheer determination, and makes a jump for it to grab his legs and bring him down, trusting Hutch will be right behind him to help him subdue Early for arrest.

“You,” Starsky pants, “are in a whole world of trouble.”

Hutch sees the man’s fingertips sparking, and snarls as he runs up, showing the magician his teeth, his werewolf teeth, and says, “Stay down.” 

If Early looks surprised at this, he doesn’t stay so for long, and suddenly Starsky and Hutch both yelp and let go, as his skin becomes too hot to handle. As they pull away, Early’s satchel comes off his shoulders and spills out a pile of jewels.

“Don’t do this, Early,” Hutch says, holding out a hand and getting slightly in front of Starksy, who has drawn his gun ( _ Since when did that move become part of the police handbook? _ human-Hutch asks wolf-Hutch in the back of his head). “It’s over. We’re taking you in for unlawful execution of magic, entanglement of a spirit who I’m  _ pretty  _ sure is a minor, and, ah, criminal burglary.” 

There’s a child’s cry of “Leave him alone!” and this time it’s Hutch who goes flying in a rush of cold air, slamming his shoulder into the wall of the alley. 

“Hutch!” Starsky keeps his gun trained on Early, if anything tensing up and getting more focused on Early. “If you try that again, we're gonna find out if magic is any good against bullets!”

“I'm okay,” Hutch says, pulling off his belt and stepping out of his shoes just in case as he turns to the ghost. “Look, kid, you don't have to do what he says, or what anyone says. You can go home.”

The scene doesn't quite descend into chaos, with Hutch dealing with the invisible foe and Starsky shouting his final warning as Early starts to move again, and then Huggy and Father Jacobs round the corner into the alleyway. Starsky keeps eyes on Early, grabbing hold of the satchel of jewelry, which seems to be his downfall, in that he won't let it go. 

“I can't go home, I can't!” the ghost is sobbing, and Hutch frowns. From what he knows, ghosts happen when people are all tangled up emotionally when they die, and his heart aches for this kid and how he's been used. 

Hutch opens his mouth to try again, but it's the priest this time who stops him. 

“ _ Everyone _ can go home, my son. The only person who will keep you from that is you,” the priest says, and then says something in Latin that makes the ghost stop and actually look at him. 

Hutch watches as the priest offers him a companionate, even fatherly, hand, and the ghost of the little boy disappears. 

“Hutch,” Starsky says, and Hutch realizes he's just been standing there, staring, and he goes to help Starsky cuff Early and collect the satchel. Starsky finishes getting control of their wayward wizard (say that three times fast) and only then catches his breath. 

Father Jacobs looks a little shaken himself, but manages to get composed fairly quickly. “Well. At least part of this worked out alright. You should be ashamed of yourself, enslaving spirits to do your dirty work.”

“The  _ kids _ summoned it,” Early spits. “I hadda do something with it. Hey, come on. Nobody’s gonna buy all this, what can you hold me for? What kinda cops are you?”

“What kind of  _ magician _ are you?” Starsky asks back, hauling Early to his feet. 

“Though, you should know, that anything you say can and will be held ag—” Hutch begins.

“I don’t have to tell you anything, you, a slobbering wolf of a policeman!”

Hutch blinks at that, but doesn’t let himself be baited. He goes to put on his shoes.

Huggy stands there smugly holding the magician’s book, and Early turns on him. “And you! Who the hell do you think you are? That’s  _ mine _ !” 

“Aw, this?” Huggy says, his entire body exuding pleasure. “This seems to me like a dangerous weapon, of course, which is why they’ve given it to someone who’ll just... _ sit on it _ .” 

Huggy’s eyes glitter dragon-gold, and elicit the reaction that Hutch had hoped to get out of showing the magician his werewolf teeth. Early goes pale, and backs down a little, unwilling to tangle with a dragon when he doesn’t have his spellbook. 

“So here’s the deal,” Starsky says. “We’re gonna take these, and  _ that _ , and you’re gonna tell us how to undo whatever it is that you did with that ghost. Or else, you, me, and he are gonna take a ride downtown and we’ll see what kinda magic you can get up to in jail.”

Early doesn’t look in the least convinced, looking away from Starsky stubbornly. 

“Do you believe this?” Starsky demands of hutch. “Why is it every time I meet something from your side of the family, they’re all so stubborn, huh?” 

“Hey, clearly there’s no connection,” Hutch says. “ _ I’d _ take leniency on a criminal burglary case. Come on.” 

He wrestles Early back to the car, leaving Starsky to say their goodbyes. 

“I don’t  _ think  _ that child will be back any time soon,” Father Jacobs tells Starsky. “I think he found his way home.” 

“And while you’re having me look after this book, what’re the odds you’d let me keep an eye on that bag of goodies you go there, huh, Starsk?” Huggy asks, giving Starsky the impression that he doesn’t have to ask, and wouldn’t ask, except that Starsky is his friend. 

“These have to go back to the station as evidence of a burglary, Hug,” Starsky reminds. “And then back to their rightful owners. I tell you what, though, anything else shiny comes my way and I’ll make sure you get first crack at it.”

Starsky passes the bag pointedly to Hutch before he gets in the car, then pauses.

“Hey, thanks for your help, Father,” Starsky says, pausing to shake the priest’s hand. “We appreciate it.”

The priest nods, and takes Starsky’s hand warmly. “Look me up if you need me again, my son. Shalom aleichem.” 

Huggy grins proudly at Starsky as the Father moves off. He collects friends like he collects jewels, and he counts Starsky and Hutch among the prizes of his collection. “How’re things going with you and Hutch?” 

“We been chasing this clown all day,” Starsky tells Huggy, leaning against the car with a grin. “But so far, so good. I mean, honestly, would you try to break things off with a werewolf before the third date?”

Huggy winks and squeezes Starsky’s shoulder. “Good answer.” 

“Werewolf hearing,” Hutch reminds them from inside the car. “Stop talking about me and get in here.” 

With that bit of information dispensed, Starsky gets into the car, and they deliver the satchel and Early to the station. 


	6. Chapter 6

“That stuff all from the places we already investigated, or did he knock any other place over while the opportunity was there?” 

“I’m trying to sort it out,” Hutch says, having laid out the jewelry with the manifests out. “It looks like just the stuff from the three families. Which means the kids were probably involved, like Early said.” 

Dobey was quite glad to book Early, who seemed entirely too proud to cooperate. “Higher-ups have been concerned about this wizard for something like two hundred years, so the council will take care of it,” he had told them. 

Which just left the kids. 

“I think we might try to have a chat with the boys when we return all this,” Hutch says, and looks at his partner squarely. “You want parent-duty or kid-duty?” 

“Hmm. I think we should hit a book store first, but then I think I got the kids square,” Starsky says. “Maybe we find them something in Latin to play around with that  _ won’t _ summon any ghosts, right? Gimme ten while you do paperwork. ”

Of course Starsky leaves the paperwork to Hutch, but Hutch doesn't really mind. Right now in their relationship, anyway, he thinks it's cute.

Once Hutch is done with the documenting and paperwork and logging all the evidence, Starsky comes back with a paper bag containing a book.

“I found a book of Latin philosophy,” Starsky explains, displaying it for Hutch. “The only thing they should be able to summon with this is long naps.” 

“Nice,” Hutch chuckles. The book even has a leather binding and some weight to it. “Maybe we should rough it up a bit so it looks older.”

They spend the next hour bending it and dabbing coffee on the edges of the pages while the families are called down to the station to identify and retrieve their belongings. 

Billy's father is in such a state, demanding to be notified of the culprit, that Hutch has to level with him. “Look, you've got your stuff back, and if you want anyone to press charges against, you can ask your son how the game of  _ pirate treasure _ went.”

The mothers gasped, catching on, and seeming relieved. 

But the rich father grew angry.

“I have a feeling they were just messing around and would have given it back when they were done playing with it,” Hutch growls. “It was taken  _ from _ them and we have that culprit in our custody. Maybe your kid would have told you that if he weren't so scared of you.” 

Hutch’s own father had been something of a disciplinarian, so he knew the type, and didn't like seeing that happen to other kids. 

“Now, William,” the wife says, clutching his arm and taking over talking to Hutch. “Of course we won't press charges. A child's game gone wrong.”

“The boys do get creative,” another mother says. 

“Right,” Hutch agrees.

Starsky is having much better luck with the kids, crouched down. “Okay, fellas, I think it’s safe to say this one kinda got away from you, huh? Can you tell me where you found the book?”

They trade looks, clearly a brotherhood, but seem to agree that Starsky is worth trusting. Vincent speaks up. “Someone just left it in our treehouse, sir. We didn’t realize it was real spells.”

“I know you didn’t,” Starsky says. “Here, I got you a spellbook that you can use to your heart’s content, and no ghosts, alright? And the next time you fellas need pirate treasure, stick to gold coins.”

The boys avoid the book at first when Starsky offers it over, but quickly overcome their fear to accept it. It’s still old and full of latin, but it feels more benign than the original book. 

“And maybe talk to your parents about putting a lock on that big treehouse so only you guys can get in, huh?” Starsky coaches, before the kids are called away by their parents. 

Hutch is relieved when they are gone, giving Starsky a weary smile. They have only a moment to breathe before Dobey calls them back into his office. 

“What I don't get is what happened to this book you’re telling me about,” the captain says, glowering at them like he knows they know. “It somehow got left out of both of your reports where it is. The mage can't have it, or we couldn't hold him. You can't have let the kids keep it—”

“Oh, no, Chief,” Hutch says abruptly, and Dobey’s eyes focus in on him. Hutch withers appropriately under the gaze of his pack superior, but isn't forthcoming with any information. “I promise we didn't do anything  _ stupid _ with it, Cap.”

“No sir, it is perfectly safe,” Starsky agrees. “I doubt we'll ever even see it again.”

Dobey eyes both of them suspiciously, and then comes to the decision that he always does, that he better not ask. “I expect that to be your guarantee. If this trouble comes up again, it's going to be your problem as much as mine, you understand that?”

“Of course, captain,” Starsky turns on the charm, trying to inspire confidence. “We got it.”

Dobey is, as ever, unimpressed with Starsky’s charm—or, as Hutch is beginning to suspect, he finds it cute or endearing and is trying to cover up that fact with gruffness—and waves them out of his office. “Good work today. Better quit while you're ahead.”

But before they can leave, Dobey coughs once. 

“Ah, was there anything else, sir?” Hutch says.

“Well, now that you mention it, I have a personal favor I wanted to ask you.” Surprised, Hutch and Starsky look at each other, and shut the door again. “What're you doing on the 29th? Both of you?”

This is the full moon, and Hutch stammers rather stupidly, since he hasn't run with the pack for three months now—not since Starsky and the wolf met each other and their entire relationship had begun to change—and it's beginning to look bad, probably. “Ah, I, of course, I'll—I'll be there, ah, this month, sir. Sorry.”

“I’m free if he’s free,” Starsky says, shrugging. “And happy to join in as long as I’m not expected to eat anything raw.”

Dobey rolls his eyes. “Good. It’ll be good for both of you to spend some time bonding  _ with other people _ . Starsky, you can sit for Rosie. Cal’s got his coming-of-age that day, and both me and his mother would like to run with him, so we could use an extra set of hands with opposable thumbs.”

“Babysitting?” Starsky asks of Hutch, entreating.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Hutch says, delighted instead of worried now. He’s inviting Starsky to the full moon! “You don't think the council will—”

“I mean, I wouldn't rub it in anyone's  _ face _ ,” Dobey says, and ‘it’ means a lot of things here, “But he's been vetted, so he's part of the pack. Of course Starsky will be welcome. With me and Edith on the hunt with Cal, it'd be nice for Rosie to have someone she knows staying with her.”

Hutch is deeply touched. They'd never been asked to babysit before, probably because there were teenagers from the Dobey’s church that could use a few bucks, and she had a built-in babysitter in an older brother. He knew Edith and Harold would alternate running with the pack when both the kids were younger, when he first got to Bay City. But if Cal was old enough to go on his first hunt, that was going to change. 

And staying and looking after the young pups was a social bonding experience all it's own. Hutch had drawn for it only once or twice since he joined the pack, because mostly the pack had enough helicopter parents who wanted to stay with their own kids often enough and could watch a few more, and there were of course, the humans. A very few pack members had married humans, who used the time to socialize, so Starsky wouldn’t be alone. 

“Yes!” Hutch says, animatedly. “That sounds great. We'd love to!”

He feels like a moron for not considering this as an option before. “Come on, Starsk, I'll tell you in the car.”

“Alright, alright,” Starsky says, because he sees that it’s a complicated issue that gives his partner a lot of feelings, and probably means that it’s actually going to be pretty interesting. Besides, it also means Starsky’s getting accepted into the pack at last, which is worth a little extra effort, in his opinion. 

“See you tomorrow, Cap,” Starsky says, giving Dobey a playful salute on the way out, before he gets into his car with Hutch. “So, meeting the family, huh? I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Gosh, you don’t think it’s too soon?” Hutch says, sarcastic-bashful now, which is mostly bravado to cover the fact that he  _ is  _ bashful about this, so he rolls his eyes for good measure. He didn’t bother taking his own car today, so he’s at the mercy of Starsky’s kindness and wherever Starsky wants to go for dinner. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”  

“I thought you’d never ask,” Starsky says, firing up the Torino and giving it a little extra celebratory juice so the tires squeal a bit as they leave the parking lot, before he gives a wink and a grin to Hutch. “So what do I need to know to survive this without mortally offending anyone?”

Hutch sighs at Starsky’s driving, but lets it go without comment, otherwise. “No, it’s pretty casual, you don’t need to worry.”

Starsky has somewhere in mind for food, clearly, so Hutch continues. “One of the councilmembers runs the rec center way out in the burbs, by that undeveloped area on the edge of the mesa. It’s for everyone, but werewolves use it a lot, and some other...similarly supernatural people know it’s a safe space for them. Anyway, she books it up for every full moon, and some people base there, you know, leave a change of clothes there or something, or else we all just meet up there for the hunt.”

Hutch watches to see how Starsky’s handling the news—coolly, as always. Sometime he’s going to tell him something really outrageous, just to see if he can rattle him. “It’s also sort of a community babysitting situation, I guess, where the pups play while their parents are out. We take turns watching ‘em. You and me could volunteer, let some other people have a chance to go on the hunt. Or, I guess we got volun _ told _ this time.” 

“Seems that way,” Starsky agrees. “Is that a common situation, getting volunteered to do bonding exercises, or is it just ‘cause I been keeping you all to myself these last few months?” 

Starsky knew it couldn’t go on forever, at least some part of him did. It didn’t fit with the whole social order werewolf thing, anyway. They had to spend time together, which was maybe a little strange to think about, that Hutch was like the stuff Starsky has seen on nature documentaries, but then again, why not, really? Regular people did stuff that was nature documentary worthy from time to time, too. 

“Hold that thought,” Starsky adds, before he pulls them into a Chinese food place. “You ready for some chow mein that’ll blow your mind?” 

“I...guess?” Hutch says, but despite his lack of expressed enthusiasm he is quite glad to let Starsky order for him, and he realizes he is pretty hungry, so he’s grateful. It gives him time to consider how to answer Starsky’s question, which requires a deep answer. “We eating here or getting it to go?” 

“I figure to go,” Starsky says, tossing Hutch a little container of white rice to go with their food, before tucking the bag with the rest of it on the back seat, secure to keep it from sliding around and disgorging its contents onto the leather. “Hey, good work today, by the way. I know this thing with Dobey and your pack kind of snuck up after that, but we took out a wizard, right?” 

“That’s right,” Hutch laughs. “Only, I was born into this, so you’re the one that should be thanked and congratulated, cleaning up our problems. Guess we’re lucky Huggy’s on our side, too.” 

Hutch reaches across the space between them to squeeze Starsky’s shoulder, and then the back of his neck, and he keeps his hand there, gently massaging, as Starsky takes them home. Hutch doesn’t care which home they go to, honestly. 

Starsky takes them to Hutch’s place almost on autopilot. It’s getting to be that he barely sees his own very often anymore, though of course he goes now and again to keep up appearances. Besides, he’s a little hypnotized by how good Hutch’s hands feel on his neck, and he’d like a chance to repay the favor a little.


	7. Chapter 7

They head inside his abode, full of plants and life, and Starsky sets the bag down just inside the door to get hold of Hutch and give him a long kiss, just because it feels good and he can, and there’s still some real novelty in being able to put his arms around Hutch whenever he wants. 

“Starsk—mmf!” Hutch isn’t exactly surprised by the kiss on general principle, though he is a little surprised by the timing, as Hutch hasn’t put his bags down yet or even taken off his gun or badge or anything. He is thrilled by the passion in the kiss, and returns it in kind, and would be glad to skip dinner and feast on Starsky instead, but he knows his partner too well. When Starsky releases him, Hutch is breathless and grinning like a fool. He all but gasps, “I love you, too.” 

“Just reminding you of your good mood,” Starsky tells him, giving him a squeeze before he takes dinner and gets it set on Hutch’s table, along with two glasses and some utensils while Hutch sheds his jacket and holster like he does every day. Starsky kicks his shoes off to follow suit, before he relaxes down into one of the chairs with a contented sigh and reaches out to help himself to dinner. “What are we gonna do when this gets predictable, huh? I don’t know how I feel about wolf claws on my waterbed.”

“We’ll never be predictable,” Hutch laughs, getting them each a glass of water and a beer, and exchanging the plasticware for silverware and paper napkins with cloth, “it’s what makes us such great cops.”

They’ve set the table next to each other rather than across, so they can rub elbows (he does have to admit Starsky’s left-handedness makes eating with him easier, as long as he sits him on his left side) and curl their legs around each other’s. They’re still in the honeymoon stage—even after knowing each other for so long, everything between them now seems new and wonderful. “And I just hope you have a warranty on your waterb—oh my God, that  _ is  _ good chow mein!” 

Starsky laughs, real and full, and he has to set his food down to lean back and hold his middle because Hutch’s surprise is so genuine and sweet. “I told you it was, didn’t I? Don’t ask me how they make it, but I figure it has to be healthy because it tastes like when  _ you _ make food, only somehow better.”

Giving his partner a wink, Starsky catches his breath and digs in again. “I mean I have a lifetime warranty on the waterbed, but I don’t think it covers wolf.”

Hutch ruffles Starsky’s hair in reply, more than a little flattered that Starsky would compare this to something he could make, and resolves to learn how to make something like it, for him. They’re both quiet while they eat, and drink, and slump closer together. 

When Hutch’s box of food is empty, he realizes he’s left his hand on Starsky’s neck the whole time they’ve been eating. 

“It’s not common,” he begins, going back to Starsky’s question from earlier rather abruptly, “and Dobey  _ was  _ asking, of course, I was just kidding. All the pack elders are good people, here: we’re lucky.” 

“Sure. Seems like it’s less of a thing that  _ we’re _ a thing, too,” Starsky says. “I’m pretty sure I could talk my mom around to our side, but my aunt and uncle…”

“Yeah, exactly.” Hutch is relieved at that, but they haven’t exactly come out to the whole pack yet. He sighs and straightens. “I guess it is a weird kind of...cultural difference. It’s like a big family. When mom or dad tells you to do something, you  _ can  _ say no, but it’s usually not a good idea, and it’s usually in your best interest. It might be a little—hard-wired in there, or something, I don’t know.” 

But here Hutch waves a hand. “Of course, that has nothing to do with us  _ actually  _ babysitting the kids, that is just a favor. And I think it’s a lot of fun, and you’ll get to meet some great people and I think you’ll like it. And it might encourage the dumb wolf part of me that it’s okay to leave your side long enough to go for the occasional jog.” He laughs. “Sorry. The possessiveness is  _ definitely  _ hard-wired in.” 

“Sure, I noticed,” Starsky leans back into the hand Hutch still has on his neck. “The novelty’ll wear off and it’ll get more normal. We do need to convince your wolf half I’m not the only option for exercise, however. Last time I think you had  _ me _ playing fetch just as much.”

Hutch laughs, flushing a little, with something like pride, or contentment. 

Starsky picks up his beer bottle and gets out of the chair, feeling full and content, and takes Hutch by the hand so they can curl up on the couch together and digest for a while, Starsky feeling content and sleepy this evening, and he leans right into Hutch’s side, totally relaxed. “I may nap a little. Wake me up if the game gets good.” 

“Yeah,” Hutch agrees, and puts his arm around Starsky and keeps running his fingers through his hair. Maybe part of him is imagining it’s wolf-fur, but he knows Starsky is perfect as he is. 

“You should go home,” he says, several minutes later, and when Starsky starts up, Hutch corrects himself: “I mean tomorrow! For clothes! And get some clothes to keep here, I mean. And I’ll grab some of my stuff to keep at yours. Would that be okay?” 

“Sure,” Starsky says, settling back down and then yanking Hutch into a position that’s more comfortable for both of them, like he might do with a pillow that was lumpy in the wrong places. “I mean, not that I mind when you turn up at my place as a wolf then have to get naked and wear my clothes, but it seems like a fair trade if I’m going to keep some here.”

Hutch laughs again, and finds it much easier to kiss Starsky in this position, relaxing back so that Starsky is laying squarely on his chest, with both arms around him, and Hutch’s legs to either side. “If I show up to work wearing no underwear and jeans that are too short for me, more than just the wolves in the precinct are going to know we slept together.” 

“How many wolves are there in the precinct, anyway? They aren’t gonna give us away, are they?” Starsky wonders, idly, like he doesn’t really mind even if they do. He has Hutch, anyway, and they don’t, so he’s one up on the world, so far as he’s concerned. Starsky hoists himself up a little further, enough so that he can kiss Hutch at his leisure, and let his hands wander over Hutch’s belly and chest and sides, a long slow warmup for something more heated. “And what’s it like? Are you and uh, your other half, usually pretty in line with each other?”

“What’s what like?” Hutch hums, low and content, getting his hands up under Starsky’s shirt, scratching his back in long strokes. “Only three werewolves besides me. Dobey, Sally, and Anderson. Anderson might give us shit about the gay thing, I don’t know him that well. But no werewolf would say or do anything that would cause an investigation that might reveal or endanger the pack.” 

“I mean, what’s it like when you change? Does the way you think change?” Starsky wonders, shifting so that he can work on Hutch’s buttons and getting them open. He shifts when Hutch finds a particularly good place to scratch, thinking he understands. “Anyway, it’s probably smart. As bad as it might go down that you and I got something going on, it’d go down worse that there’s werewolves.”

Hutch nods, kissing Starsky softly while he scratches his back, and eventually his fingers dip down into his pants to squeeze his ass. “Yeah, it’s—I mean, it’s  _ me _ , just, me with different goals and desires and ways of seeing the world. Things that’ll stress me out like from work won’t bother me as a wolf, and things that are no big deal to me will make wolf-me agitated. Somedays, after a rough case, I’ll turn into a wolf, if I can, just to sleep. One thing we’ve always agreed on, though, is you.”

“I feel pretty single minded where you’re involved, too,” Starsky says, laying Hutch’s shirt open and pressing his mouth to Hutch’s bare chest.

Hutch’s fingers start tracing down the cleft of Starsky’s ass, massaging at this point, and lifting his head to take Starsky’s mouth in a deeper kiss. 

Starsky groans into it, rocking his hips forward and trying to shove his hands down Hutch’s pants in turn as they kiss and shift against each other before they practically fall off the couch, and Starsky only barely catches them with one hand thrown over the back. “You know, I think we’d better move into the other room, if that’s not being too forward. Or we could unfold the couch.” 

“Yeah, no. We should definitely. Yeah,” Hutch is panting. “Would you let me fuck you, again? Or, ah, I’d like it if you wanted to fuck me, instead? Or also?” 

It’s a very frank discussion, unromantic, but it has to be had, and he sits up and squeezes Starsky’s hands before they stumble out of their clothes towards the bedroom. 

“You went first last time,” Starsky reminds, giving Hutch a pointed shove down on the bed. “I mean, I’ll listen to arguments about why we should repeat that order, but I’ll never learn if you don’t let me practice.” 

He gives Hutch a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, producing one of the condoms they’d left lying around the previous evening from somewhere tangled up in Hutch’s still unmade bed. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Yeah,” Hutch says, flushing from his cheeks down to his chest. He is surprised again that he likes Starsky just flipping him back onto the bed, and he reminds himself again that Starsky isn’t remotely a soft, helpless human. He hauls Starsky down into a heated kiss. “Yeah, that sounds great. You won’t go easy on me, right?” 

Starsky laughs. “Well, I wasn’t planning on chewing you up, partner, but if you’ll coach me through it, I can go whatever way you want me to so long as it doesn’t hurt you.”

“Shame,” he says, but he's teasing, and he winks to make sure Starsky knows he's nothing but satisfied, and kisses him again. “Okay, I'll talk you through it.”

It takes a few more minutes for them to both wrestle each other out of pants, mostly because they keep getting in each other’s way more than any actual effort to foil each other. Starsky gets a hand on Hutch’s cock before anything else, and works the lube open with his other, though in his excitement he doesn’t quite realize how quickly it’s going to pour out and a thick, cold dab drops on Hutch’s belly before Starsky scoops it up to put it to better use. 

Hutch's every attempt at laughter is cut off, rolls into an obscene groan, as Starsky’s touches seem to already be reaching inside him, they affect him so deeply, and he squirms.

Starsky gets Hutch’s legs situated over his lap, shifting forward as he reaches behind Hutch’s balls, watching the expression on his face as Starsky pushes in, both interested in what effect he’s about to have and attentive for any signs of pain. 

“Huhh, yeah,” Hutch groans, throwing his head back, though he's trying to keep his eyes on Starsky. “Just, just massage it for a bit, you know, first. Push one finger in and out a few times. Lots of lube. You've got big hands.”

“Look who’s talking,” Starsky follows the instructions anyway, leaning way over Hutch to keep eye contact, because he knows he’s the cause of every change on Hutch’s face and it’s hot as hell that way.

Hutch chuckles, biting his lip as he rolls his hips into Starsky’s hands, and he can’t quite meet his eyes unblinking. His cock is already hard and leaking. “And don't touch my cock unless you want me to finish without you.”

“A hair trigger, huh?” Starsky teases, but he complies with the request, taking his hand off Hutch’s cock and using the opportunity to do his best to get a condom on his own one-handed. Trickier than he thought, but he manages. “And a slow reload…”

“Hey—”

When Hutch opens his mouth to protest, Starsky curls his fingers upward, carefully, searching, remembering how Hutch had gotten him really going with that small gesture. 

It’s so good that Hutch actually chokes, and coughs a few times, which makes him tighten around Starsky’s fingers (which isn’t all that pleasant). When he can talk, he laughs and says, “Holy shit.” 

Hutch grabs Starsky’s knees for something to hold onto, which puts his hands almost beneath him, like he’s offering himself up to Starsky, dick-first. 

“Sorry. You gotta warn me first,” he admonishes, though of course Starsky has to do no such thing and it’s just something to say. 

“You didn’t warn me,” Starsky laughs, leaning down to kiss the inside of Hutch’s knee.

“Anyway, you’re lucky you don’t have to deal with the  _ wolf’s  _ reload.” Okay, now Starsky’s fingers are just making him babble. Hutch thinks about this as an interrogation technique, and laughs again to himself. “I think I’m ready for two fingers now.” 

Starsky takes his time with this, feeling how slick Hutch is but still not sure that means anything for how  _ tight _ he feels. Starsky gives a few experimental thrusts, feeling how Hutch slowly eases open and relaxes for him, and maybe that’s almost as good as anything else he’s experienced with Hutch so far, how much he trusts Starsky. The reward for his efforts is beyond worth it, though Starsky really wishes he could get a hand on Hutch’s cock. “You’re sure I can’t touch you at all?” 

Hutch laughs, a breathless sound, like it’s punched out of him. He’s screwed his eyes shut, concentrating on feeling, on making himself relax through the slight burn on the other side of which he knows is bliss. Starsky’s fingers are as wicked as though he had been practicing all his life. “Oh, I  _ want  _ you to. It’s just gonna be real embarrassing, how easy I am for you.” 

He opens his eyes, blinks doe-eyed up at Starsky and manages, unevenly, “Y-you’re calling the sh-shots, partner.” 

The words send a jolt right down Starsky’s spine to his dick, just the same as Hutch’s acceptance of his control, it’s a real power trip, something Starsky wouldn’t have guessed he’d be all that turned on by, but sometimes you learn something new about yourself.

“Hey, that’s right,” Starsky agrees, as if the idea just occurred to him out of the blue. He grins at Hutch, and eases his free hand up the inside of Hutch’s thigh while he works on easing a third finger into him, and then he gets hold of the base of Hutch’s cock firmly, more holding him back than helping him along but this way, he can rub his thumb along the underside while he fingers Hutch open, almost torturing both of them this way.

Hutch watches Starsky’s hands with wolf focus, now, like he's got food or  _ is _ food, and he sucks in a breath as Starsky grasps his cock—and forgets to let it out. 

“Hey, breathe,” Starsky reminds, still squeezing and rubbing with his thumb, but it works; Hutch stretches easily over the fingers plunged into him now, thrusting in slow and insistent motions. “You gotta tell me how this goes, right? Focus.”

The breath Hutch lets out is harsh, strangled-sounding, and all he can manage past the mounting pleasure is small gasps, his belly expanding and deflating like a frightened rabbit’s. “Yeah. Yeah, good. I’m good. You’re good.” 

He didn’t really expect to be this overwhelmed. Maybe he had never really let himself be with anyone else, or maybe Starsky really was that good, but Hutch can barely  _ think _ , like he’s hovering in that weird moment between the change, when he isn’t really man or wolf or anything. Unable to keep his hands where they are, Hutch grasps one of Starsky’s wrists with one hand, and tries to cover his face with the other, and when Starsky grazes his prostate again, he hikes one leg up over Starsky’s shoulder. “Shit God fuck Starsk. Ready. I’m ready. Please. Christ.” 

Starsky hoists Hutch’s other leg over his shoulder to match, reaching down to get  a condom on, and on second thought, a second one on Hutch, before he gets their bodies into position, bending Hutch practically in half as he leans over him, a fist on his cock to guide it into place. Starsky purrs, “Watch your mouth.”

(“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hutch says again, like he didn't hear, or like he's testing Starsky.)

Then he pushes his hips forward, slow but firm, without stopping even once until he’s fully inside Hutch, and that—oh  _ that _ is a lot. Amazing. Starsky has to pause to catch his breath, then, and it’s tight and heavy and they’re both hanging onto each other for dear life for a minute.

Hutch stops breathing again until he can get used to the stretch, to the slight burn and deep ache he knows he'll feel for days, probably, unless he transforms to heal up. He doesn't want to transform, of course, it's good even though it's rough, because Starsky is so close and so affected, too, and he remembers to breathe again when Starsky slides against his prostate again with his thick cock. “Starsk.”

“Hutch,” Starsky manages, after a minute. “It’s good, it’s so good.” 

Hutch whines once, softly, a wolf-sound but a human-emotion: too good, too much, and Starsky barely has time to fuck him properly before Hutch cries out and comes, hand going over the top of Starsky’s to work himself through his orgasm. He feels wanton like this, slutty, even, and it's liberating, like he imagines being in heat would feel, because every part of his biology wants more of Starsky.

Starsky watches Hutch spill over for him, feels him pulse and empty into his hand and the condom, and barely makes it two or three more thrusts afterward before he’s following along after. Hutch was right, they  _ were _ easy for each other. Starsky hangs onto him, leaning down without moving any further apart, and just catches his breath, enjoying the way their bodies heave together.

“Wow, buddy,” Starsky manages, and then just sighs out, big and heavy. “That’s for sure on the list of experiences I’d like to repeat.” 

“C’mere,” Hutch says, all he can manage, except a weak tug pulling Starsky into his arms and into a kiss. Their movements are uncoordinated and sloppy, but sweet, and they do get the kiss right eventually. He hooks his legs around behind Starsky, locking him in place for a few minutes, as though he had a knot, and just holds onto him until he can catch his breath. “Yeah. Yeah.”

Starsky may be laughing at him, so Hutch laughs, too, but he doesn't let go, holding Starsky close and kissing all across his face, like he'd lick him if he were a wolf. “Love you, buddy.”

“Love you too,” Starsky tells him, with an affectionate pat on the shoulder before he just drifts for a few moments, hanging on and snoozing as his body relaxes utterly against Hutch’s. He rouses again when it starts to get cold, and he shifts up, taking the condoms to dispose of them and bringing a warm cloth to clean up before he crawls in bed with Hutch for the night, both of them getting limbs tangled together until they’re comfortable. 

“Hey Hutch?” he wonders after a minute, in the distant and drifting tone of someone going to sleep. “What are they gonna do with Early?”

Hutch frowns at Starsky, briefly, and then chuckles. “Ah, the pillow-talk of cops.” 

Sitting up, Hutch rubs Starsky’s shoulder and swings his feet out of bed to go brush his teeth. “They’ll probably turn him over to his own people—to the local mage’s council. There’s a secure holding location—like jail for supernatural people, that can actually hold him. You know, sigils, silver, iron, things like that.” 

Starsky sits up, peering after Hutch into the bathroom. “What about his regular crimes? He won’t go to jail for that part?”

It’s not sitting right with Starsky, some part of whisking someone away to be dealt with privately, where there’s no public eye to keep things in check. For a moment, he’s not quite sure why that bothers him, and then when Hutch leans around the doorway with the toothbrush still in his mouth, Starsky knows. What if they whisked Hutch away someday? Sometimes the wrong people went to jail, that’s why there was a whole justice system in place. Starsky has no such reassurance about all of this.

Hutch does something interesting with his eyebrows as he tries to figure out what Starsky cares about this. He turns to spit toothpaste into the sink and finish rinsing his mouth before he returns. “Ah, I mean, those will be taken into account, sure. It sounded to Dobey like this guy already had a record, and getting non-supernatural people involved, and children, is a big problem.” 

He squints again, unsure which part Starsky was worried about. “I mean, even if he  _ did _ , no way a normal prison would hold him, Starsk.” 

“I mean, will he face trial? What if someone asks about what happened to him?” Starsky asks. “To the rest of the world, what does a secure holding location look like, does it look like we arrested him and then he just vanished? I mean, that’s something to worry about.”

“Umm,” Hutch says, faltering because he isn't exactly sure of the answers to Starsky's questions himself, entirely. “I mean, yes, he gets a trial, you know, with a jury of his peers. Meaning, other wizards and stuff.”

Hutch licks his lips, still trying to understand. “The rest we could ask Dobey about, if you're worried the...paper trail isn't secure? You mean like if IR or a reporter snoops around?”

Starsky tilts his head at Hutch, and then figures the disconnect is because Starsky thinks of this personally, and Hutch is still in job mode. He tries a different approach. “Hutch, if you were arrested and taken away for a crime and had to be held in one of these uh, supernatural holding facilities. What would they tell me? Or Kiko, for that matter? Would it just be like you disappeared?”

“Oh,” Hutch says, dumbly, and stops there for a minute. “Well, I—I  _ wouldn't _ , first of all. It's for criminals, or people who reveal themselves or...who we are, unjudiciously.”

“Well, but you said a regular prison wouldn’t hold him. What if he’d just robbed the houses?” Starsky wonders. 

Here Hutch winces, because now he’s beginning to see what Starsky means.  _ He _ had revealed himself to Starsky and to a known criminal, after all, and they  _ could  _ have ‘taken him away’ for that, technically. 

“I mean, even prisoners can see their friends and family and still talk to them,” Starsky points out.

“I think,” Hutch begins, considering bullshitting an answer, and then sighs. “I guess I don't know. I didn't think I'd actually be handing supernatural perps all that often—doesn't our handbook say?”

Starsky sighs too. “The handbook is pretty vague. I guess it has to be in case it gets lost or dropped or something.”

“We could ask Dobey. Off the clock, I mean. Just because the system could be abused doesn't necessarily make it nefarious, does it?”

Starsky pats the bed next to him, and lays back, going quiet and thoughtful as Hutch rejoins him, before he finally decides to let it go. At the moment, there’s no real answers. 

“We'll ask,” Hutch confirms, when Starsky stays quiet. “We could maybe insist we witness at his trial.”

“I mean, there are times when our very public legal system is not the greatest,” Starsky points out, a fact they’re both intimately familiar with. “And I’d want to know where I should rescue you, if it came to that.”

Hutch takes Starsky’s hand, and kisses it, and waits until Starsky is looking at him. “Thank you.”

Starsky reaches out, pulls them together in a hug, and then wrestles Hutch over onto the bed. “Sorry I brought the whole room down.” 

“I  _ mean _ , thank you for being an even better person than you are a cop, and an even better friend than you are a lover,” Hutch clarifies, knowing Starsky knows how highly he regards him as a cop and a lover. He lets himself be wrestled down and then captures Starsky’s lips in a kiss. “You didn't bring the room down. It's still me and thee.”

“It’s getting sappy in here,” Starsky says, yanking a blanket over both of them. He kisses Hutch’s nose.  “Which means we’re both overtired. Get some sleep, partner.”

“It’s just  _ you  _ who doesn’t like soapy scenes,” Hutch laughs, running his fingers through Starsky’s thick curls and letting his hand just stay there. “I happen to like a little bit of romance, a bit of poetry, declarations of love—”

“Here’s some poetry,” Starsky says, putting his hand over Hutch’s face affectionately, before he kisses him again and shoves him into a comfortable position like he might with a pillow. “If you don’t sleep soon I’m sending you to your own couch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please let us know what you think, and subscribe to the series for more adventures of Starsky and werewolf!Hutch.


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